“Will You Give Him to Me?”

(circa April, 1977)

It was about 5:30 am on a Saturday morning and little 5-week old Luke woke up, wanting to be fed. So I pried my sleepy eyes open and stumbled into his room. I changed his diaper, sat in the rocking chair, cradling him in my arms and began to nurse him, longing to get him back to sleep so I could sleep just a little bit longer.

After a few minutes Luke suddenly stopped nursing and threw up. This wasn’t just normal baby spit-up. No, it was projectile vomiting – all over the place! How could one little baby hold that much fluid in that tiny stomach? Well, I guess this was something that parents just had to deal with – all a part of childhood, right?

I cleaned up the mess (gagging the entire time – I don’t handle puke very well) and tried to nurse him again, still hoping for him to go back to sleep. He drank a little more, only to throw up again. By that time Bill and I were afraid something was very wrong and fear began to grip our hearts.

As the morning progressed, Luke still could not hold anything down. So we took him to the doctor. There was no fever or any other signs of illness so the doctor told us to go home, try to give him some Pedialyte, but stay in touch with him. Luke couldn’t even hold Pedialyte down.

For the rest of the day we tried numerous times to try and get some fluids down him but he simply couldn’t hold anything down. He just lay in his little infant seat, blankly staring into the distance, turning grayer and grayer and grayer as the day wore on. He didn’t even have enough strength to cry.

Going To The Hospital

By that evening the doctor told us to meet him at the hospital. That drive from Huntington Beach to the hospital in Newport Beach was the longest drive of our lives. As we held our precious, listless baby, we prayed the prayer that only two agonized parents can pray – a prayer that is beyond words, rising from the groans of our spirit.

Luke needed fluids – immediately! We were told to step out of the hospital room, and forced to listen to the wails of our baby behind the closed door, as they inserted an IV. When they were finished, the nurse ushered us back into Luke’s room. There he was, dwarfed in a big white crib, with arm restraints on his tiny arms and an IV tube going into his little bald head. With tears streaming down my face, all we could do was gently stroke him and love him with our soothing words.

It was getting very late. The nurses told us we needed to go home to get some rest. Luke was in good hands and they promised to call us immediately if anything happened.

Battle of a Heart

Part of my heart remained in the hospital that night and as we drove home, God spoke to me, “Will you give him to me?” What? How could I EVER do that? NO!

It was a sleepless night as a war waged in my heart all through that night. As I tossed and turned, God was relentless. “Will you give him to me?” “Does he belong to you or to me?” “I was the one who gave him to you, will you offer him back?”

How could I ever obey God? It was too much to ask. Just then, another parallel to Abraham & Sarah came to mind. God had promised to give them a son, Isaac, and after many years, and miraculously in their old age, Isaac was born. But God later told Abraham to take their precious son and sacrifice him on an altar. What agony they must have endured! Yet, Abraham obeyed (but God ended up sparing Isaac’s life anyway).

What could I do? With my heart breaking in two, I did realize that Luke was God’s gift to us. I also realized that there is a difference between my soul and my human spirit. My spirit is the place that is strong enough to obey God. The love in my soul’s emotions could never give Luke up. But, I also have a will that is part of my soul. I realized that, by faith, I could exercise my will to obey God in my spirit. And so, by faith, I prayed, “Yes, Lord, Luke belongs to you. You give and you take away. My emotions aren’t handling this well at all so don’t listen to my emotions – listen to my will.”

Hebrews 4:12 says, “For the word of the Lord is alive and active. Sharper than any two-edged sword, it penetrates even to the dividing of soul and spirit, joints and marrow, it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” God was speaking to me and his speaking did divide my soul from my spirit. There truly is a difference. By faith, I used my will to override my emotions and by that, I believe my spirit won out.

Surgery

Early the next morning the nurse called us: “We noticed a bulge in Luke’s groin. It looks like he has a hernia. We have put his mattress on a slope to let gravity try and pull that hernia back down until we can deal with his digestion problem.” When we arrived at the hospital, there was Luke, still with arm restraints on, an IV in his head and now, sloped downward. However, his cheeks were a little pinker so we knew he was finally getting enough fluids.

Later that day the doctor told us that they needed to do surgery, as that hernia could be part of the problem. And so they placed Luke in a little incubator to wheel him into the operating room. We kissed him good-bye. Would this be the last time? We tearfully followed him down the long hall and were stopped at the door. We were not allowed to go any further. As the door slowly closed, the long wait began.

The doctor said it would probably take about 45 minutes and so we began to watch the clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. “Lord, we pray that you will heal Luke.” The minutes passed agonizingly slowly. “Lord, we pray for the doctor.” Tick. Tock. After 45 minutes we began to look down the hall, expecting the doctor to come. “Lord, Luke does belong to you.” After 55 minutes, our hearts began to beat a little faster. “Lord, please take care of Luke.” Tick. Tock. After 1 hour, we checked with the nurse. She said that sometimes things take longer than expected. “Lord, we need you!”

After 1 ½ hours, we were nearly frantic. Then we finally saw him, slowly walking down the hall, head down, scowling. Our spinning world suddenly stopped and we braced ourselves for the worst. The doctor walked through the waiting room door and announced: “Everything went well. Luke had “meckle’s diverticulitis”, which is a pocket in his intestines that he was born with. It was protruding through the hernia and was being strangulated. So we cut out about 4 inches of his intestines. He should be fine and able to go home in a day or two.” No wonder he couldn’t keep anything down.

Later, we inquired with the nurse about the doctor’s glum, foreboding demeanor. She told us that it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just his disposition. Well, it certainly did scare us. (Ummm, maybe he should work on his bedside manner.)

A Healthy Baby Boy

The next day Luke was ready to go home! With gratitude bubbling up in our hearts we joyfully drove home, ready to be parents to a very healthy baby boy!

I guess the ordeal was a test and whether or not we passed it, I have no idea. I didn’t feel strong; rather, I felt like I would never survive the nightmare. I do know, however, that my perception of being a parent was forever changed that day. Our children do not belong to us – they belong to God. They are safely cradled in the loving hands of their heavenly Father, not ours. We are given the awesome responsibility to love and care for and nurture these little ones, but they belong to God. In fact, everything we have belongs to God.

Yes, God in his wisdom, knew there were many lessons we needed to learn and that could only happen if we had children. And this was only the beginning …