Relinquishing Control

Thoughts from time with a sick child

I didn’t plan to write this one. Even as I type, I weigh the cost of spending time writing instead of tackling the ever-growing list of things that have piled up the past few days. Like many families, we’re dealing with a household of coughs, fevers, and fussiness. However, unlike years past, we worry that our special boy won’t recover like our other kids have. This brings a level of stress and anxiety that we’ve never had to deal with before Remy entered the scene.

I’m a nurse by trade. I wasn’t raised a mechanic, a fixer-upper, or carpenter. I know how to take care of a landscape, but in terms of practical “manly” skills, I am acutely aware of my deficiencies. But I am a nurse. And when someone is sick or in some type of health emergency, I feel like I can be of some kind of help. It might sound crazy, but when you feel bad, I feel good, like I can be of use, like my vocation has its purpose.

When Remy was born, in the back of my mind I said What are the chances of this special boy, with all his health issues, being born to a family with an ER nurse? God use me and my skills to help my son. And truth be told, there have been many times where my experience navigating the healthcare system and making judgement calls have been invaluable (at least that’s what my wife says). But when he’s sick, when he has what everyone else has, he has it 10x worse. Every sickness we wonder if we’ll have to take him to the hospital, if he’ll keep breathing throughout the night, if he’ll break his fever. All my medical training and intuition goes out the window when Remy is acutely ill, and as his dad, as a nurse, I feel helpless.

Comfort Finds Me

As I was doing my morning readings, I was in Psalm 35. It’s a Psalm of David asking for the Lord’s help defeating his enemies. But a couple verses stuck out right at the beginning of the Psalm. In vs 2-3, David says this:

Take your shields—large and small— and come to my aid. Draw the spear and javelin against my pursuers, and assure me, “I am your deliverance.”

David is speaking directly to God and asking Him to come to his aid. He knows the truth that God is the God of Salvation, but here he needs the assurance. David, a skilled warrior-king, a man who should come across as competent and confident, asks for help. He’s relinquishing control.

Stubbornness runs on my mother’s side, who I take after most if I’m laying all the cards on the table. We don’t like relinquishing control. It’s one of the hardest things to do. After all, God told Adam to look after the garden and tend to it. He gave man a job and expected him to do it. How we interact with this world matters, more than many Christians acknowledge.

But when you’re holding your own child, and they’re sick, and you know there’s nothing you can do about it, it’s a huge lesson in humility. I cannot reach inside of him and make him whole. I cannot break his fever. I cannot make him keep his feeds down. I cannot soothe his poor, raw throat. I could drown in sorrow, and this is my first reaction. Day 1 was just sorry and worry.

But Day 2 is when I read Psalm 35. Day 2 is when I prayed for God to take control. I cannot break his fever, but I know who can. I cannot make him keep his feeds down, but I know who can. I cannot soothe his poor, raw throat, but I know who can. And I must. That is the only option I have for my son. After marriage, having children is one of the most character forming endeavors God has given us as humans. Caring for a sick child shows us just how little control we have. Caring for a sick child forces us to either continue worrying, accomplishing nothing, or relinquish control to an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-kind God who loves me and my family more than I ever could.

We’re on Day 4 now of sickness for Remy. Thankfully, he hasn’t had to go to the hospital. But we continue to work on relinquishing control to the God of All Comfort. Join us in praying for him, and join us in humility.