Faith versus a good head smack

It's been a hard three weeks.

Coming up on the tails of an amazing birthday and a knocked-my-socks-off Mothers' Day, Fathers' Day got brushed under the rug. I am ashamed, and can't stop apologizing to my husband who had no problem working his tail off to make me feel special, and then receiving nothing in return on his own day. Aside, of course, from a lot of dirty dishes.

Most of you know from facebook everything that's been going on with William. He started throwing up three weeks ago. Then he'd recover, then he'd throw up. Recover, throw up, over and over. I don't care what anyone says, professional or not--germs don't act like that. Not unless the patient already has, like, HIV or an otherwise worthless immune system, and they really are getting a different virus every three days that make them vomit. I highly doubted this was the case with my son.

Finally, it culminated this weekend when his lethargy became scary. He couldn't hold his head up. I'd lift him under the arms and try to stand him up on the floor, and he'd just fall over. I mean, that's scary. He perked up with some food on Saturday, but by Sunday he was refusing all food and drink. Then, when he threw up everything he'd eaten all weekend, we said, that's it. This boy gets a bath and we're going to the ER now.

The ER visit was inconclusive, as I expected. They straight up told me they had nothing to offer me in the way of finding a reason for the vomiting, but they could make sure he was hydrated. To me, it was just as well. I was tired of hearing that he's caught a nasty bug. It's just pure idiocy, you know? I wanted to get him hydrated, and then Monday, I would call his doctor who specializes in autistic kids' digestive systems.

Yesterday, while I sat with him in the ER, watching him sleep with that IV in his arm, I tried to pray. I had my prayer book out, and I read all the prayers in there for sick people, and even a few others, just cuz I figured it wouldn't hurt. But the whole time, I felt like a hopeless Christian, if I could even call myself that. I was praying these prayers, asking for total healing of my son, and the whole time, I couldn't convince so much as my pinky fingernail to believe that God would listen to me, let alone help my boy. Usually, when I'm in some crisis, and I cry out to God in it, I feel better when I'm done. I feel certain He's heard me and has my best interest in mind. I didn't this time. Not at all. I felt it might have done poor William just as much good if, instead of praying, I had stood up and hopped in circles on one foot, pausing every ten rounds to smack my head on the wall.

When George and I lay in bed last night, after all this was over, I told him how I felt and he told me that faithfulness has nothing to do with feeling effective during prayer. He said my faithfulness was evident in the simple fact that I prayed. It was humbling, and I'm still not entirely convinced, but I'll tell you something.

When our priest stopped everything to come over to our house and say prayers and special blessings over my floppy little boy, I felt an incredible relief. It was as if I was so weary and incapable of prayers full of faith in God's power and goodness, He knew I needed a stand-in, and God provided that. Those faith-filled prayers were still said on his behalf.

I know it's not about what I feel, but it was easier to believe when I heard someone else pray for him. And, throughout this whole awful ordeal, I've not yet felt relief quite like that.

Thanks be to God.