After six weeks in the NICU, our baby’s going home day was set for January 3. At 3:00 AM that morning, our 3 year old climbed in our bed with a fever. It was the flu. Despite vaccinations and caution, the flu was in our house on going home day.
Our preemie could not stay at the hospital, but she couldn’t come home either.
The NICU offered to keep her one more night while we looked for a safe place to hunker down for six days. They drecommended avoiding germy hotels, so I started calling around.
Every friend I called had beds full of college kids and in-laws for the holidays or had been sick themselves. I started out calm, but with each dud phone call my anxiety mounted. I got those prickly shakes. Furrowed. Tense. Agitated. Nearly nauseous. Worst thing at the worst timing, I thought. I saw my sovereign God. And I saw my circumstances. I half-heartedly prayed, “I trust you God, but this is really really hard.” Living by faith is a daily decision. That morning, I was indecisive. Would I hand God this burden or hold it myself? I admit that I held it for an hour. It was a hard chaotic tear-filled hour.
I fixated on my circumstances and ranted. First, I was disappointed. The unification of our family was further delayed. I had spent November living in the hospital away from them, then my baby spent December in the NICU away from us and now an eleventh week would separate us. Second, I was scared. This was a high-risk situation- the flu can kill a preemie. Even keeping her out of our home did not guarantee her safety because the virus has a four day incubation period- what if it was in me already?! I would be contagious before my symptoms started. So, even staying with a friend, I could give it to my daughter before I even knew I was sick! Also, I felt awful that I could not care for or even touch my dear sick three year old who needed her mommy. Third, I was perplexed. Where were we going to stay?! I may have yell-cried in the car on the drive to the hospital.
I do not think it is wrong to lament. As I cried in my parked car, I thought of the Psalmists who wept and cried out often, like in Psalms 22 and 55. I thought too of Paul who was “perplexed but not driven to despair” and “learned to be content in every circumstance” as he wrote in 2 Corinthians 4 and Philippians 4. I remembered the Psalmist and Peter’s similar exhortations to “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” and “Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken,” as recorded in 1 Peter 5:7 and Psalm 55:22. I thought of all I had learned about God’s power and peace. Then I chuckled through tears when I recalled C.S. Lewis’ practical advice from The Silver Chair (which I had read in October), “Crying is all right in its way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later, and then you still have to decide what to do.”
What was I going to do? I decided that instead of groping vainly and tearfully for control over the situation, I would cast the big bad burden on God. He was already in control of it anyway, I just had to trust and rest in him. Once I prayed for guidance, it seemed like a blinding stifling haze was lifted from my face. I saw the situation anew as an opportunity to live by faith and not by fear and to let God show his faithfulness to me yet again.
I journaled, “I do not want to worry until God fixes this then look back and see His hand. I want to believe while I am still in the dark.” And I prayed, “I will wait for you Lord. You have a plan. I want to learn how to trust you and experience your peace in the midst of uncertainty, not just in hindsight.” I asked God to choose a place then lead me there.
I asked friends to pray too and God answered. Someone recommended I call Tom and Victoria. I had talked to Victoria a few times, but didn’t feel she knew me well enough for me to ask such a favor. But I was desperate, so I called her.
Victoria was so genuinely excited about the phone call that I didn’t feel like an inconvenience to her at all. She said they had a cottage in their backyard that they used for their adult children and for ministry. On the phone, I cried again but this time with grateful tears of relief.
Then, I received a surprising phone call from the neonatologist offering to keep our daughter another night so that I could watch myself for symptoms. I really think this offer was an answer to my friends’ specific prayers. Again, I was beyond grateful.
I packed up the baby clothes and burp cloths then grocery shopped to move into my temporary home. I did not know what to expect of the cottage before I arrived- I did not know that Victoria is a talented interior decorator and that her beautiful cottage had been featured in magazines. Neither did I know that her talent and generosity would become such a gift to me and my daughter.
I had expected to spend a week hushing a baby and tiptoeing to the microwave from a back bedroom, wishing I was in my own house. But that is not what God had planned.
Instead, our week in the lovely cottage was a pleasant and unexpected retreat. From the rafters to the teacups, the space was simply beautiful. I woke every morning to warm sunlight and my girl’s gentle cooing. Owls hooted while I nursed her through the night. My little one, who had started out four pounds at eight weeks premature, was now a dainty six pounds and had not yet reached her real due date. At home, responsibilities would have limited my time with her, but in the cottage I spent my days holding her and staring at her in the quiet stillness. I wrote her letters and read the Bible and journaled for hours each day with her beside me, using the opportunity to prepare for the wonderful difficult job of mothering four. Our days were filled with naps, baths, kisses, books, songs and slow dances. I delighted in every moment.
I will never forget that blessed week in that darling cottage under the live oak tree. I am so thankful to Tom and Victoria for using their gifts to care for others. They ministered to my urgent need and they ministered to my heart.
Once our house was safe, I brought our baby girl home. The next day was my birthday. What greater gift could I receive than having my whole family under one roof for the first time in seventy-three days! That night will stand out in my memory forever- my husband’s arm around me, watching our children take turns at last holding their sister, full of love, knowing God’s might and goodness in a deeper truer way, beginning the next stage of our journey together with thankful hearts.
This post concludes a series I wrote during my high risk pregnancy and NICU journey. The full series can be found here.
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