The day our house
became a mansion.
My wife muffled her gasp with her hand. Tears filled her eyes.
The pediatric orthopedic doctor was clear. “Things will happen fast from here on out. They will move him to the medical center immediately.”
He wasn’t the attending doctor, but he called from his personal phone once the MRI results came in.
Our son, Seth, was nine months old when he was diagnosed with a desmoplastic infantile ganglioglioma—a brain tumor that took up half his skull.
Over the weeks that followed, our lives moved into the hospital. Seth underwent intensive brain surgery. We waited, prayed, and learned how to care for him through his recovery.
Then we came home.
All of us. Together.
After living in a hospital, our house seemed a mansion.
We sat on the floor of our enormous living room, watching them play, and cherishing every smile from both our boys.
We felt wealthy.
There are things I learned in that hospital that I want my children to know. Especially Seth. And, one day, his children.
Community was our lifeline.
Our church, family, and friends carried us throughout. Text messages of encouragement and prayer. Gift cards. Thoughtful visits. Care packages. Family looking after our other son while we were in the hospital with Seth.
During a time when we didn’t know whether our son would live, they gave us so much to be grateful for. In our suffering, we were not alone.
Gratitude helped keep
the darkness at bay.
I believed then, and I believe today, that God is good, He is faithful, and He loves us.
After three months of tests, we were grateful to finally understand why his entire right side of his body was not developing. Grateful to be near Texas Children’s Medical Center with some of the best neurosurgeons in the world. Grateful for our community, for every breath, and for every ray of sunshine we could find in that hospital.
Gratitude didn’t make the uncertainty disappear. It helped me see what I could do next to serve my family.
I began asking “what?”
“Why now? Why me? Why my son?” I could have asked those questions endlessly and never found an answer that satisfied me.
Instead, I asked, “What should I do with this? God, what would You have me do?”
Those questions helped me research our options, pay attention to Seth’s care, and thank the people beside us. They helped me remember we weren’t the only family in that hospital.
I met another family who had waited years for the surgery that would save their son’s life. Thank God, both our boys received the surgery they needed. Praying for that family helped me through those days, too.
This is a story of God’s faithfulness and the endurance He gave my wife and me. It belongs in our family.
So do the quieter stories.