5-10-07 From Teri: I've not felt like writing lately. Been more in the mode of crying, worrying, fretting... Isn't it weird how one day the sun is shining & all is well, and then your kid gets sick or has some struggle, and the day turns dark & forboding & weary, despite the enduring sunshine?

I've not felt like writing lately cause I've been worrying about our toddler, Ian. He has this really-bummer, but not life threatening, eye condition. It's more complicated than this, but basically his eyes are crossed. It started kinda outta-the-blue last September, and got quickly worse. At this point he only sees with one eye at a time; monocular vision as opposed to binocular vision. But the hope is that after the surgery to help align his eyes, he will gradually be able to have that binocular vision again. As terrified as I am for him to have to go through this, I realize that every week we wait just increases the chances that he'll never have normal vision.

The surgery has been planned for months. And I've been okay with it. Don't know how many times I've said, "well, sure it's a bummer, but it's not like it's brain surgery or anything." Cause yes, we've had to face brain surgery with one of our children. Three brain surgeries, before he was even 4 months old, with our oldest son, Caleb. And just so you know - he is a walking, talking, totally-ordinary-and-even-quite-extraordinary, almost-12 year old miracle boy now. So I guess I've been a little blase' with this little ol' eye surgery thing. Golly, it's just outpatient...no biggie, right?

But this past Saturday night, it hit me. For the first time, the surgery wasn't some objective, internet-researched, medically-discussed concept. For the first time, I actually pictured Ian's little body on the surgery table, his beautiful pink-cheeked, golden-haired head with eye lids pulled back, surgeon's knife poised above his luminous olive-green eyes. And it was too much to imagine, too horrible, too scary. So I cried & cried & fell apart & almost had a sorrow/fear/anxiety induced heart-break heart-attack. I told Kevin, "we just can't do it; we can't put him through it." And Kevin was amazing, and said that was okay, we could cancel the surgery, first thing Monday morning. No argument, no trying to talk me into it, just, "alright, honey, I trust you & your intuition & this wash of emotion." So I was able to take a few deep breaths & calm myself...and then check on each of the children, stroking their sleeping faces, lingering with choked-back sobs at Ian's bedside.

In the morning I wondered if Kevin's acquiescence to my little emotional outburst was more a result of the fact that it had been 10:45pm, and his brain generally shuts down at 9:30. I was prepared for the onslaught of reasons why we should go ahead with the surgery. But Kevin didn't do that. He was more-than-usually tender & affectionate with Ian that morning; and surprisingly agreed with me that perhaps we needn't rush into the surgery if we felt unrest about it.

For the next day or so I was an emotional basket-case. It's like I was post-partum, or pms'ing, or pre-pubescent or something: crying at the slightest provacation, griping at the kids, snappping at Kevin. There's even a couple of resulting pimples on my chin. (How is it that anxiety can actually thrust my hormones into teenagerhood again? Which leads me to wonder, if I kept it up long enough, could my thirty-something body parts start to defy gravity again & resume their 18-year-old shape? But that's beside the point...) Needless to say, things weren't much fun at our house. Isn't there some refrigerator-magnet-wisdom slogan about that? Something like, "if momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."

The deal is that I was just conflicted. I mean, it's sort of an elective surgery, y'know? When we had to face the risks of anesthesia with our son Caleb, it was more of a life-or-death question. The life-saving benefit always outweighed the risk, so it wasn't a hard decision. But what if we were risking our little Ian's life, just to improve his vision? He won't be blind or anything; just one-eyed. And cross-eyed. Not a life-threatening condition. I was looking at a relatively healthy, happy-go-lucky, cross-eyed toddler, and terrified to imagine what might go wrong, terrified to imagine the suffering he would endure. But if we didn't go forward with the surgery, was I sacrificing Ian's vision; in another two months would his brain be unable to ever recover the processing of his binocular vision? Either choice seemed rife with regret.

On Monday I was back to researching the eye condition & surgery on the internet again. We all know what a mixed bag that is; moderatly helpful, but mostly R-rated-horror-movie-running-scared-through a dark-night-terror-inducing. I wasn't comforted. So I prayed again, and more, and harder, and opened my Bible, telling God that I needed confirmation & clarity right now. Instead I got a bunch of obscure messages about how I needed to trust in the Holy Spirit & press into God & allow Him to be made strong in my weakness...frustratingly non-specific advice that Jesus is so famous for. I talked to a bunch of people about it - seeking wise counsel, 'yknow - like my Mom, my friends, my 11 to 7 year old kids, a guy whose kid went through it 16 years ago & still has crossed eyes... Definitely not comforted.

But I did talk to two friends, Todd & Steve, who brought some revelatory thinking to me. They wondered "at" me if the issue was more about what God was doing in our family & in my faith-journey, and less about whether we chose to do the surgery on Friday or not. Steve questioned whether I was more focused on the positive outcome I wanted than really following God's leading in it...and I began to ponder...

Perhaps this fear-of-regret thing that was paralyzing me (and has so often in the past) was more about my insistence on getting what I want, and less about trusting in God's guidance. What if I trusted in God's leading and everything didn't work out perfectly the way I wanted? What if I've been living my life according this flawed theology that when I follow God, all my circumstances will be happy & will work out just the way I want them to? What about Job and David and Peter and even...Jesus? They certainly followed God's will...and yet their lives weren't pretty or sappy-happy or perfectly-coifed. Where do I get off thinking that trusting in Jesus will make everything in my life look & feel & seem...nice?

The thing I've got to remember is that my goal is follow where God is leading. Whether I perceive the resulting circumstances as dark or sorrowful or cloudy...the sunshine endures. Gotta keep my face to the sunshine, and the shadows won't seem so dark & cold. And yet, as "Switchfoot" sings to me, "the shadow proves the sunshine." One cannot exist without the other. And so I pray that I can begin to trust in the God of the sunshine and the God of the shadows, and in that beautiful, difficult, dichotomous, co-existing truth in my life.