As a girl, I daydreamed of marriage and children. By the time I was twenty-two, I was living that dream. Then tragedy struck. Our second child, Jan, was born with a life threatening congenital heart defect. An attempt at surgery left her with severe brain damage and by the time she was ten days old she lay in a coma. The doctors asked us to sign papers to take her off life support. They felt there was no brain activity. With such a hard decision to make, we went to the chapel at the hospital to pray. I knelt and questioned silently, "God where are you? Do you know my baby is dying? Do you care?"
From the back of the room, a friend began to read from Psalm 139.
For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me.
And I knew God was speaking to me. Nothing that had occurred had blindsided Him. His Peace enveloped us and we knew regardless, it would be okay. We weren't asked to sign those papers because Jan came out of the coma.
We brought her home about a month later. She no longer had a sucking reflex, she had horrendous seizures, and her brain thermostat was damaged. That meant if she cried too much, she'd spike 105 or 106 fever. The days and nights seemed endless.
One night at about 2 a.m. as I swayed Jan under the spotlight that was over my fireplace, I sobbed and railed at God, "Why did this happen to my child" Why did it happen to our lives? Why, why, why, God?'
Suddenly, I saw Jesus on the Cross with the blood dripping from His head and from His hands and feet and I heard in my heart, "Is the servant greater than the one he serves?"
Reality set in-the Son of God had chosen to come and die on a cross for me. Here I was crying because I thought I deserved better. Oh, my!
"Lord, forgive me," and my heart said
why not me?
Weeks went by and we were sent to a pediatric Neurologist. Jan's seizures were uncontrollable so I hung much of my hope on that visit. On the appointed day, I was stunned when this expert treated Jan like a sack of potatoes and said, "mom, this child will never smile or respond in anyway. She'll never walk or talk or count to ten. She's profoundly brain damaged. You need to place her somewhere and get on with your life."
I left the office totally devastated. Without realizing it, I let his negative words rob me of my hope. Though I kept going through the motions of living, my faith and joy were gone but God didn't let me set up residence there for long. He got my attention one morning as I read a devotional, ""Resignation to My will is a great barrier than unbelief."
"What?"
"Resignation to My will is a greater barrier than unbelief." As I pondered the words, I realized that's what I'd done. I'd resigned myself to our situation (my lot in life). In essence, I wasn't trusting that good could come out of it and in doing so, I'd lost my hope. Where there is no hope, there is no faith. I'd been walking in self-pity. I once again asked God to forgive me and began to walk in faith, expecting Him to work in miraculous ways in our lives, expecting Him to work this very thing to our good.
Soon we heard about a program in Philadelphia, PA. We applied and by the time Jan was thirteen months old, we began to put the program into effect. Over a period of two years, we had one hundred and twenty volunteers help us make all the normal things that Jan should be doing happen. We crawled for her and helped her see and feel her world and at the end of those two years, Jan's delightful little personality had unfolded miraculously. Though she never walked or talked, she loved life and had a ministry of love to everyone she met.
Many years have come and gone and life has taken many unexpected turns since those long ago days, including a diagnosis of cancer that rocked our world. In all the years that we fought to keep Jan alive, it never crossed my mind that she'd outlive either of us-but she did.
When Jan was twenty-four , she was hospitalized for fifty days and came out of the hospital on Hospice Two months later, my sweet husband found a knot under his arm. By the next fall Jan and Mike both were on Hospice.
Mike faced his challenge with great courage as we both clung to Psalm 139 once again.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me. He told me he was ready to go but the thing he regretted most was that I would have to bury Jan alone. I answered with, "Mike, if that occurs when Jan dies, I'll know you get to see her walk and talk first."
Jan lived three more years after her daddy died. On an icy February night, at the age of twenty-eight she drew her last breath and in my minds eye, I saw her running with great joy into her Daddy's arms.
Yes, life has taken many unexpected turns but my Father has walked beside me all the way and one day, I'll run into the arms of my Father too, AND I'll see Jan whole and healed. I can't wait.
Carol Anderson, Stonecroft speaker, had their attention. Thirty moms, grandmas, siblings, volunteers and DADS attended the PressPause meeting held at the Little Lighthouse in Tulsa, OK. December 7, 2010. The school exists to help handicapped children ages birth through six years of age. The children attend tuition free. Their teachers, professional therapists, and volunteers celebrate every tiny miracle as little bodies grow and cope with challenges others cannot know or explain. 
PressPause volunteers baked casseroles & brownies, served the beautifully decorated tables and washed dishes, giving the family members an opportunity to STOP for just an hour of their busy lives to consider the Person of Jesus Christ. 
