Tip of My Iceberg

Our days are filled with the tension of what we know and don’t know, of waiting and watching to see what comes next. We anticipate what we hope will happen.

Often with little to no control over circumstances.

Such was the case as we waited for the birth of Baby Nolan. My daughter was having a scheduled Cesarean Section, and as we watched her two older children, we couldn’t wait for the baby to show up so we could see him over the phone. With no visitation at hospitals, this would be the best we could do.

The wait seemed interminable. We knew when the surgery had happened, but we weren’t getting any news. In typical mom-mode, I panicked. My mind went to the worst-case scenario.

When we finally got the call of his arrival, we learned that Nolan had been taken fairly quickly to NICU–the neo-intensive care unit– because of fluid on his lungs. He’d be there for at least 24 hours so they could rid his lungs of the problem and get him to breathe on his own.

Nolan’s brother and sister wanted to see him. Waiting isn’t something that comes easily.

For anyone.

It’s easy to worry about what you don’t understand. After talking to several people who knew way more about Cesarean section births than I did, I finally grasped that this was not unusual.

When a baby is being born normally, squeezing through the birth canal takes care of the extra fluid in their lungs. But birth by surgery means that process was missed altogether.

The fluid still had to come out.

Nolan was in an incubator and had a tube in his nose. The appearance of his condition seemed way worse than it was. Thankfully, this was a matter of waiting and watching when his lungs would be clear.

His arrival, however, wasn’t easy. One of God’s little gifts to us is not remembering how we got here. The pressure, the pushing, or in Nolan’s case, the clearing of his lungs, reflects the reality of life itself for each of us.

Life is hard.

We care for those we love, so we are present with open eyes and listening ears.

Such care costs. We hear people’s fear and pain. We see their grief and sadness. We experience their disappointment and despair.

There are no other options. To choose to ignore what’s happening to those we care about is choosing to miss the opportunity to show compassion and comfort when we are able. To be unaware of the needs of others causes selfishness and arrogance in us that prevents a genuine connection with others.

Caring costs.

God cared so much for us that He gave His Son to pay a price He didn’t owe. To cover the cost of a mess He didn’t create. To redeem people who often ignore Him. He showed up because we need Him.

His caring cost Him dearly.

Our daughter and son-in-law went through a difficult pregnancy, waiting for someone they didn’t know but already loved. Caring for a son whose future is unknown, whose personality and issues are as yet to be seen.

Their care will cost them. Time, energy, emotion.

Love.

In God’s eyes, we’re all worth that cost.