A House Not Made With Hands

While I sat on the beach last Tuesday enjoying the beauty and tranquility of the ocean, a family I know discovered their little boy has a life-threatening illness.  The gut-wrenching fear and uncertainty his parents face can only be understood by someone who has experienced a similar event.

Almost thirty-three years ago my husband and I were elated at the birth of our first child.  The first weeks as new parents was exciting, but frightening since our baby wasn't thriving as expected.  Our pediatrician didn't seem too concerned that our baby hadn't regained his birth weight at four weeks.  He was also annoyed when his dinner plans were interrupted at Christmas by two worried parents.  His instructions were only to change from breast milk to soy formula.

At around five weeks, I noticed our baby's complexion seemed tanned and his face had the look of a wizened old man.   My good friend who was moving out of state dropped by to say goodbye.  While she was there, she was frightened when she saw his condition.  After hearing of our experiences with the pediatrician, she immediately called a friend who was a nurse at another pediatric office.  Although the main pediatrician was not taking any new patients, she was able to get an immediate appointment for us with his young associate, just out of medical school.

At the appointment I began to describe symptoms to the new doctor while he examined our son.  When I mentioned his skin color, he told me it was definitely jaundice, not just a dark complexion.  He pressed on his abdomen and began making pen marks.  I later learned he was marking the margins of his greatly enlarged liver.   

Hospital admission quickly followed.  Our lives turned upside down as events spiraled out of control.  In 1978, there was no WebMd or Internet to search medical terms and treatment options.  The suspected diagnosis was either biliary atresia, or congenital hepatitis.  Biliary atresia is fatal for infants without surgical shunts or liver transplants.  Liver failure can occur with congenital hepatitis, and the only medical treatment available was rest and good nutrition.  Surgery was required to make a diagnosis, but we were not facing good options either way.

I consciously tried to hold my emotions in check except when I was alone, but one night I fell apart when a young nurse commented on how well I was doing.  My husband and I were twenty-four and twenty-five years old, totally unprepared to face the huge mountain before us.  We were both physically and emotionally exhausted.

Physicians and medical students streamed into the hospital room each morning, went over medical charts, then stood in the hallway discussing options I didn't understand.   I cried while blood samples were squeezed from tiny heels.  While wearing a heavy lead vest, I also cried while holding his little arms and legs still for x-rays.  I cried when he wasn't allowed to have formula for an entire night and part of the next day.  His pacifier was his only comfort.     

I begged God for healing, but peace just did not come.  Then one night as I read my Bible, I found 2 Corinthians 5:1 which says, "For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."  The meaning became clear for me.  If our son did not survive, I could be comforted to know he would be cared for and loved in God's house.  Broken, I told God how much I loved my son, but if He needed him more, I was willing to give him up.  If he allowed him to live, I promised to raise him for God's service.  I didn't know a lot about the Bible, so I was surprised to later realize this was the same prayer that Hannah prayed when she so desperately wanted a son.   

The night before surgery, the older pediatrician (who was not taking any new patients) prayed with us in the hallway outside our baby's hospital room.  We gave permission for administering an experimental radioactive dye during surgery, knowing an adverse reaction could prove fatal.  Surgery would last about forty-five minutes, with only a small incision, if bile ducts were present.  If there were no bile ducts, surgery would last several hours, with a large incision, while shunts were inserted.  I carried our son to the doors of the operating room.  He was only six weeks old and we were unsure of what the future would hold.     

Forty five minutes later, the surgeon came in with a smile on his face.  There were definitely bile ducts present, and the biopsy confirmed hepatitis.  Within two days his bilirubin levels began to improve, his skin color pinked up, and the whites of his eyes began to clear.  Within just a few days we were able to go home.     

This was the first of many, many times God comforted me as His cherished child.  Over the years the Holy Spirit has uttered prayers on my behalf when I was so burdened I couldn't even begin to put them into words.  He knows me so well and loves me that much.  My prayers have not always been answered in the way I had hoped or expected.  But God has proven time and time again that His grace is sufficient, and God is good all the time.   

In November our oldest son will be 33.  As he leads praise and worship in church, I am humbled and thankful to Jehovah-Rapha for healing, and His promise of "a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens". 


Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney