Healing and not healing and being on fire

Is God in the healing business? People say this, but I'm just not sure. I don't know if you can watch the number of kids I have watched suffer and die and still believe that declaring healing in the name of Jesus is a real thing that has any bearing on reality at all. Maybe you can. I cannot. 

Praying seems a lot like wishing. Wishes aren't in the habit of coming true. 

I think rather than the business of healing, God might be in the business of loving. I'm not completely sold on this either, but it certainly seems more likely. I saw a quote from Bob Goff today that said, "sometimes instead of an answer God sends us a friend." That's a pretty accurate version of the life I got. I will give Bob the benefit of the doubt since he said sometimes. Some people get both-the answer and the friend. Some people probably get neither. That's freaking terrible. 

I told a friend today who also has a dead kid that this is the absolute worst club in the whole entire world, made up of the best people in the whole entire world. It's hard to live in a world where such deep, deep sorrow and such utter beauty coexist. It feels like calmly watching the most breathtaking sunset while being on fire. How is everyone walking around like business as usual? And how am I supposed to? I mean, the sunset was truly beautiful, but I am on fire here. How am I even still alive? And will I never not be on fire or will this consume me? 

Please refrain from telling me I will not be consumed on the basis that you'd rather I not be. It could go either way at this point. I just doubled the amount of counseling I'm receiving on my counselor's observation that the current schedule is not cutting the mustard. History is chock full of people who were ultimately consumed by their loss. Mary Todd Lincoln and Horatio Spafford (yep, the guy that wrote "It Is Well With My Soul") for starters. (Spafford wrote It Is Well while he was in shock. Shock comes first and says, "It Will Be Okay! We will survive this! It's not so bad." Grief comes later, takes up residence, and says, "Um no, it's bad. It Will Definitely Not Be Okay. You Are Not Okay. You Will Not Be Okay." And then you just walk around on fire. Spafford's shining moment did not last and he went a little crazy later. This should probably be an entirely separate post.) 

If you are a person who needs healing in some way I truly hope you are met with healing. Be it science, or a miracle, or a miracle of science. Any are entirely possible. But if you don't experience the healing you are looking for, I hope you have or are given a friend. It helps with the being on fire. 

Mother's Day

I'm in Durham. And I wish I had brought my laptop. But here I am typing on my phone.
Tomorrow is the Rainbow of Heroes walk honoring past and present Duke Pediatric Bone Marrow Transplant patients, and raising money for the Duke PBMT Family Support Program. It's always the first Saturday in May. So basically once every seven years it happens on Mother's Day weekend, like it is this year. And really, I can't think of a better way to spend Mother's Day weekend than honoring the son who isn't here to kiss my cheek and put his little arms around my neck.
I hate this. But I love him more. I have had the opportunity to say his name and hear his name spoken more times today than I have maybe in this entire year. What a gift.
It is entirely possible that I'll feel differently in the future, but the chance to talk about Eli and see people that knew him, even if only when he was sick, sounds like the sweetest Mother's Day gift available to me.

Driving into Durham, it truly felt like I was going to the hospital to see Eli. As if I could head to the fifth floor and there he would be, exactly as I left him, asking me to tuck his feet in and snuggle him. If only. It was completely surreal.
Being in Durham is complicated because I simultaneously feel a little at home- there's the chick-fil-a where my car broke down, there's the craft store where I bought yarn, there's the baseball stadium where we were going to go when Eli got better, and here is the complete lack of a Walmart or target within a close proximity to the hospital- and I also hate this place so much.
Tomorrow is the big day, the big walk. I haven't seen any of these people since last July. But they cared about Eli, and about me, and about our family. So I don't care how much I cry or even if jealousy attempts to rear its ugly head when I see the kids who are doing well. They were all my home away from home, my support system when I was so far from my community. They will always hold Eli precious in their hearts and I will always hold them precious in my heart. The doctors, nurses, support staff, BMT families, these are people I will never let go. We have witnessed the most terrible things and soared on the most promising of hopes. We are both better and more broken for knowing each other.