Right now, in his little yellow chair, in the darkness of the bathroom he sleeps.
I breath a sigh of relief.
Maybe you would too if you realized how little sleep he (and his parents) got last night.
He has a nasty cold, his second in only a few weeks. He has been sneezing and dripping snot like you wouldn't believe and his cough…. oh the cough. It's the raspy bark-sounding kind. The kind the doctors warned us about.
I'm trying not to worry.
It's just a cold.
I stood next to him sleeping for probably 10 minutes, just listening to his chest rattle. Watching him strain to breath in and out, hearing the gurgle of his lungs.
I know I shouldn't, I thought I was getting better. At the worrying, I mean. By number 4 you would think a mom would learn to be a little more laid back. And I was, I really was with Audrey (number 3).
But then the NICU happened.
And I got HELLP, and then I got bronchitis. And the road to recovery is tough.
We're moving on. We know how blessed we are, truly we do.
I've learned to be grateful for the NICU, for being sick, and for the tough road of recovery.
But then he gets sick…. twice…. and I'm tired.
And when I'm tired I struggle to remember.
To remember that He is in control, and I am not.
That He is all-knowing, and I am not.
That He loves me and He loves him and He does what is "good" for us.
This Thursday I am reminded.
Reminded of His last week. Of the meal He ate, this day, with His closest friends, and His betrayer.
Reminded of the King, who washed the feet of those He came to serve.
Reminded of the night He spent in the garden with the sleepy disciples. They failed to keep watch. They got tired, too.
My Savior, crushed, wounded, despised, rejected, oppressed, afflicted and all for me.
He struggled to breathe too. Drowned by His own blood.
All for grace.
I remember, and even in my sleepiness I know that I will worry less.