All gone (alternatively titled, Ready, Set, Pray)

Eliana’s vocabulary has been exploding of late. This weekend I was amazed at how many new words – and word combinations – she had developed in just the week I had been apart from her. I did a double take when she correctly proclaimed at an opportune moment, “What happened?” Sadly, in the midst of this explosion, a lot of her cute “Ellie-isms” are falling to the wayside.

But a few linger. The girl still uses “up” and “down” interchangeably and incorrectly. And “all gone” still is used both for its intended purpose and all done. Communicating her desire that her arch nemesis in life, the vacuum cleaner, be removed from sight? “All gone!” Communicating that despite her parents’ opinion to the contrary, she is finished with her meal? “All gone!”

If you were to come sit across from Jeff and I right now and ask us how we’re doing, we would both emphatically respond, “All gone!”

We are all gone with doctors appointments, and measurements, and numbers, and speculations, and what ifs, and in this scenarios, and wondering and waiting.

Thursday, April 2 we received our initial diagnosis at the UW. That was only four months ago. While four months may seem like an eternity to a five year old, for those of us well progressed into adulthood that period of time usually flies by. To us, it has seemed an eternity. That appointment seems so far in the distant past.

And so, we’re ready. Ready as anyone can be for such a weighty day. I can sense my body, as well as my heart, has grown and stretched and expanded about to its limit. It’s time. It’s just time.

I have a sense that Arabella as well is “all gone”. Yesterday at our appointment, the OB had to use both the doppler and the ultrasound to get a good read on her heartbeat. Don’t worry, that heart is beating strong as ever, but Bella kept rolling away – she’s all gone with pokes and prodding. The OB tried to give us one last glimpse of Bella’s face as well, but our girl was true to form. She turned that little face at exactly the right angle so we could not see her features – just the back of her head and the peach fuzz growing there. It’s ok, sweetie. The day is coming soon when you will no longer be able to hide your face from us.

And so as we approach Friday (and just in the off chance I actually go into labor before then), I want to pass along some specific things for you to be praying for. In no particular order, merely as they come to mind, here are the things on my heart. But I also trust the Spirit’s directing of your prayers – and if you feel so inclined, you can share those with us.

• Pray for a tangible, undeniable sense of the Lord’s presence in that delivery room. That even those who don’t know Jesus would sense something different.
• Pray for every nurse, doctor, intern and resident that will work with us during labor and delivery. That each would be purposefully chosen.
• Pray that the neonatologist we met with before would be the doctor on call that works on Arabella in those first critical minutes. If it is not him, pray that whatever doctor is leading her care would have great wisdom in knowing how much to intervene and if and when to just return our daughter to our arms.
• Pray for an uneventful labor, and that Arabella tolerates labor well.
• Pray for deep, beautiful breaths for our girl. For lungs that fill and cries to delight the ears of all in the room.
• Pray for delivery time…ideally, I would like to deliver either Friday evening or Saturday. I would hate to wake Eliana up in the middle of the night for her one opportunity to hold and kiss Bella.
• Pray for Eliana’s processing of everything that will be happening. Pray against a spirit of fear in unfamiliar environments. Pray for an understanding and sense of the situation far beyond her years. Pray for wisdom in how to parent her in all of this.
• Pray that if the time we’re given is short, that that time would be bathed in peace and the ability to just fully soak in and love on our daughter. Pray that the moment she enters Jesus’ arms would be a moment of peace, and not suffering.
• Pray for Jeff and I throughout this week and that day and those pivotal moments. Praise the Lord for the grace and unity He’s poured out on us throughout this journey, and ask that that oneness continues in the midst of events that can tend to isolate and separate.

And perhaps most of all, pray for that first fifteen to thirty minutes after birth. Arabella will be immediately taken from us to an infant stabilization room for assessment and intervention. This will be my Abraham moment. The moment she was so aptly named for. My releasing of and binding to the altar of the one I have carried so close to me. The offering up of one I love so deeply, knowing she will be returned to me – but not knowing if in this life, or the next. Oh it is this moment above all others that I know only the grace and strength of the Lord can sustain me through.

As I think of that moment, I keep going back to one of my favorite books. For years, Hinds feet on High Places has been one of the most profoundly shaping pieces of writing along my journey of faith. At the end of the book, after a long, arduous, seemingly never-ending climb of steep mountain sides, the main character Much Afraid is brought to a final place of surrender. Through the climb Much Afraid has learned a great deal about the heart of the Shepherd who is always faithful, always present, and always strong enough, even when we are not.

And so she stands before the altar, struggling to release the natural human love and desires growing in her heart. And at last she has come to a place where she’s not sure she can succeed.

For the first time she felt something akin to fear and panic. She was not able to do this thing which he had asked of her. Having reached the altar at last, she was powerless to obey. Turning to those who had been her guides and helpers all the way up the mountains, she asked for their help, and for them to do what she could not for herself, to tear the plant out of her heart. For the first time Sorrow and Suffering shook their heads. “We have done all that we can for you,” they answered, “but this we cannot do.”

At that the indistinct figure behind the altar stepped forward and said quietly, “I am the priest of this altar – I will take it out of your heart if you wish.”

Much Afraid turned toward him instantly, “Oh, thank you,” she said, “I beg you to do so.”

He came and stood beside her, his form indistinct and blurred by the mist, and then she continued entreatingly, “I am a very great coward. I am afraid that the pain may cause me to try to resist you. Will you bind me to the altar in some way so that I cannot move? I would not like to be found struggling while the will of my Lord is done.“

There was complete silence in the cloud-filled canyon for a moment or two, then the priest answered, “It is well said. I will bind you to the altar.”

Bind me to the altar of your will, oh Lord. May I not resist your good and perfect and loving hands.