Click, Click, Click...

Picture this:  You're at an amusement park and there in front of you lies the mammoth, fear-provoking wooden roller coaster.  The sight of it alone produces great anxiety within you.  After assessing the risk vs the reward, you decide to go for it.  Once you've made that decision, the fear somewhat dissipates as you wait in line.  The fear bubbles up again once you realize that there's only 2 or 3 people ahead of you and your turn is almost up.  Once you get into your seat, you tighten the seatbelt so tight that you can hardly breathe.  Then, you pull the harness down, exhaling in hope that it might go down another half inch.  Last, and all that you are really able to do at this point, you look over nervously to your partner, put on a fake smile and say, "Are you ready for this?"  The look on his face says it all.  There is no more room left in that tiny car for bravado so he doesn't even pretend to have it all together, and neither do you.

You start down the tracks with a white face and a death grip.  But, a strange sensation always seems to happen.  The fears that threatened to suffocate just seconds ago give way to the burst of light that comes once you're outside the loading station.  The elevated view, the breeze and the warm sunshine make you think, "Hmmm, this isn't so bad after all."  So, you loosen your grip and relax a bit. 


BUT, then it happens... 


What seemed like a fun, mildly thrilling ride all ends when you hear the click, click, click, indicating that you are now making the ascension to meet Goliath.  This sloooow climb takes you higher and higher. 

Click, click, click. 

You are reaching a point that is making you a bit too uncomfortable. 

Click, click, click. 

Your climb is slow enough that you can look over and see stairs running alongside the tracks.  Stairs??  Why in the world would there be stairs?  You're only a million feet up in the air.  Who in there right mind would climb those? 

Click, click, click. 

Your stomach is in knots.  You realize that there is no way out.  It is inevitable.  This thrill ride is not so thrilling anymore.  Up ahead is a 20 story drop and 2 loop the loops.  All you can do, since you can barely even breathe, is pray.

Tonight, I laid down next to Eli until he feel asleep.  He was curled up next to me, holding my hand and I started to think about what's to come in less than two days.  With each thought, I felt my stomach going, "Click, click, click."  The long climb that we have been on is nearing the tiptop.  Jason and I have waited and waited, buckled up, uneasily looked at one another with fake smiles on our faces, and found courage in knowing we're in this together.  I can't speak for him, but I know there have been many moments when I have wanted off this ride.  I've begged the Lord so.many.times to let me out of the car  and allow me to take the stairs.  But, ever the Good Shepherd that He is, His answer is always a big N-O.  The climb has been so looooong.  But, here we now sit, white-knuckled, less than two clicks away. 

No turning back. 

We will find out soon whether or not he has celiac disease.  I have so many emotions tied up in this child and this possible diagnosis that I can't even begin to type them all out in an eloquent way so I won't.  Like all the hairs on my head, the Lord knows them all and that's all that matters.  All I will say is that my sole desire for this sweet boy, who is so full of life, is to be able to enjoy it to the fullest for once.

After Eli was asleep, Jacob sweetly asked me to snuggle with him.  Oh my...my heart breaks within me to know that I only have 9 more days to do that.  How could I ever refuse?  So, we lie there and my stomach is going, "Click, click, click".  The anxiety almost seems like too much to bear.  We talk about his surgery and I ask if he's scared.  He tells me no but that he's worried about what will happen if he sleepwalks?  I want to both laugh and cry.  Laugh because he is so innocent and cry because he is so innocent.  He is so trusting in us and the decision that we made for him.  Once again, those doubts creep up.  Anxiety is great within me and I would love nothing more than to be on that set of stairs and leave this all behind.  However, the stairs do not bring any more security than where we are currently sitting.  In fact, there is much greater risk in taking the stairs.

I hear him breathing heavy so I know he's asleep.  When I get up, I take another look at him and the sight of him says it all, "Do not take the stairs.  Breathe."  In his relaxed unconsciousness, his legs have flopped over in such a way that would make the average person scream in pain.  As terrifying as it may be, I KNOW we are to stay strapped in and remain on this ride.

Make straight paths. 

Click, click, click...

I long to be pulling safely back into the loading station, coming to a complete stop, climbing out of the car and taking a full breath.  I long to be able to look at Jason and know that we have gotten through it and everybody came out okay.  But, we're not there yet.  The clicking of the car making the climb signals that the ride is still in motion and there is nothing left to do but pray.  Because we can barely breathe, sometimes even praying is difficult.  That is why I find so much comfort in knowing that it is not just Jason and I on the ride but, rather, there is car after car of friends and family, praying for protection on our behalf.  You have NO IDEA how much this means to us.  We don't need homemade meals or free baby-sitting (although we'd never refuse those either, lol).  We simply need your prayers.

As the clock clicks down for Eli's biopsy to

November 3 at 8am

and for Jacob's surgery and biopsy to

November 11 (11-11-11) at 6am

please remember us as you petition the Lord.  There is no greater gift you could give to us than your time spent on your knees.

May the fruit of your prayers result in this: 

Notice that everyone is holding on but my two boys.  Complete and utter fullness of life.