Where is my Army?
Before we left town, Leah wrote in her journal on January 20:
Three days since they told us about this tumor he has, and I’m so broken. Lord, you lost your son, you know how this feels. I don’t feel like I have the luxury of asking “why, God?” I’m asking you, “How long, O Lord?” Like the man born blind, this is for your glory. I am so grateful that you have blessed us with such bright, vibrant children. I’m asking you for a miracle, God—please heal Asher. Bring Asher toward You and transform him into the image of your son. God, you are our only hope in life and death. We talk about what we’re grateful for in that moment. That’s what we have—moments. And we are so grateful for these moments. We have to LIVE in the moments that we have. Now is the time of living, not grieving. God, help us to live. You’ve put an army of your people around us. There aren’t words for the support and generosity you’ve poured out through your people from all over the world.
On the long list of many amazing things that St. Jude does for their families, they provided air travel for Asher plus one parent, meaning one of us (i.e., me) would have to drive to Memphis with Annelise. It’s nearly a ten-hour drive from our home, so on the day of our departure, Annelise and I woke up early. My parents and sister came by to pray with us before we left town. The next ten hours were mostly quiet, save for the occasional phone call. Uncharacteristic of many children her age, Annelise didn’t complain the entire time. In fact, it wasn’t until we were within Memphis city limits that she said she was ready to get out of the car.
Another small miracle was that Asher and Leah arrived at St. Jude fifteen minutes before we did. We were able to get checked in, a schedule for the next day, and a meal card (we get a meal card!?!?) together without any of that “Well what did they say?” type conversations that happen when only one parent is present for something important.
That night, after we checked into the on-campus housing at Tri Delta Place, I was making trips to and from the car, bringing in our luggage. It was cold and windy outside. For the first time, I sensed the absence of our community. Hundreds of miles away, there was an army of family and friends not just willing, but eager to help us in any way they could, and they were out of reach. Exhausted, weak, cold, overwhelmed, and broken-hearted, I looked up at the night sky, and said, “I miss my army. Where is my army?” I felt very much alone standing there in the parking lot with arms full of luggage. But I was not alone, and God had not abandoned me or my family.