I mentioned that, by Gabriel’s first Christmas, I was healing.
What I didn’t mention was that I’d delayed acceptance. I’d healed enough
to deal with the fact that my child’s eyes were broken, but I hadn’t
forgotten about the ace up my sleeve: God. On New Year’s Eve 2007 I
resolved to put my child’s fate in the hands of the Almighty.
Certainly, God would fix this. As I alternated my view from my sleeping child to Dick Clark’s automaton who was busy rockin’ in the New Year, I became convinced that if I was faithful enough, believed enough, prayed and sacrificed enough – my baby’s eyes would miraculously heal themselves. Yes, yes….I know… I’d gone slightly mad. In my experience, healing and sanity aren’t always mutually exclusive.
On the first day of 2008 I wrote the following verse, in black Sharpe marker, on the bathroom mirror:
And all things, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive. – Matthew 22:21
Time passed. I asked and believed. I believed in myself for asking. I asked, believed twice and then asked once more. I Sacrificed. I gave up coffee, my favorite shoes and Free Cell. I’d never prayed so hard for anything. I covered my bases. I prayed to God – who loves us all unconditionally, I prayed to Jesus – who’d healed the blind, I prayed to Mary – who was a mother and could only want the best for all her children, right? I added the light of my tiny votive candle to St. Jude’s flame of hopeless causes every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon.
I convinced myself that one day my boy’s big blue eyes would fix on mine, and he’d smile. At me. Not just in the general direction of me, or at the place where I was last, but at ME. All my problems would have been divinely solved. The people in my life unwittingly fed his crazy venture of mine. Everywhere I went it seemed that someone, knew someone, who was the second cousin of someone, who’d been healed of some terrible affliction by belief alone. I was just biding my time until I could find my miracle.
Crazy, I know.
Religious mania aside, I was taking steps to raise a blind child. Almost instinctively at this point.
Gabriel was a chubby 6 month old cherub by this time. He was still small, but not alarmingly so anymore. He was laughing, smiling, go-go-googling at me and showing crazy awareness of music. However, he’d never shown the slightest interest in self-propulsion. Sure he could roll over, but didn’t much like it. That was it. Roll over, roll back. Tummy time..sure…whatever. He didn’t crawl. He had no motivation.
I realized that I had to take drastic action. I took his favorite toy. I prayed over it. It was one of those baby jobbies. You pushed the button and it plays a song. The song was either ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ or ‘Bust a Move’, I can’t remember exactly. I gave it to him, he pushed the button and then jammed out to the song. He laughed and reached for the button again. I let him push it, pulled the toy from his grasp and then put it just out of reach. He stopped laughing and made a face I’d never before seen unaccompanied by gas. His eyes filled with tears and smile faded.
I was a monster. As I held that toy approximately 4 inches away from my now suffering child I knew the truth. I was a brutal, savage, sight-grubbing, toy-stealing, horrible mother. I sucked. I was an evil abomination. The fleas of 10,000 camels should infest my underpants because that was no less than I deserved. I probably would have thought of even more scathing self-recriminations, but a flash of movement caught my eye.
Ok, ok. It wasn’t a flash… or even moving all that fast. It was Gabriel. Crawling. Smiling again, wider than ever. Head held high (a centimeter off the carpet), threading drool (on the carpet) he reached his toy and celebrated (by resting in his drool spot on the carpet). He gave his toy a celebratory fist bump and it played it’s tin can song. He laughed, pushed it away himself, and crawled to it again.
I stopped praying. No scratch that. I still pray every day. I accepted and rejoiced in what I had. I stopped asking for more, I stopped nagging. I realized that sometimes the answer is just no. I realized that things happen for reasons that we can’t always understand. That there is so much more out there than we can see with our eyes. That in order to have faith, you also have to relinquish control.
Certainly, God would fix this. As I alternated my view from my sleeping child to Dick Clark’s automaton who was busy rockin’ in the New Year, I became convinced that if I was faithful enough, believed enough, prayed and sacrificed enough – my baby’s eyes would miraculously heal themselves. Yes, yes….I know… I’d gone slightly mad. In my experience, healing and sanity aren’t always mutually exclusive.
On the first day of 2008 I wrote the following verse, in black Sharpe marker, on the bathroom mirror:
And all things, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive. – Matthew 22:21
Time passed. I asked and believed. I believed in myself for asking. I asked, believed twice and then asked once more. I Sacrificed. I gave up coffee, my favorite shoes and Free Cell. I’d never prayed so hard for anything. I covered my bases. I prayed to God – who loves us all unconditionally, I prayed to Jesus – who’d healed the blind, I prayed to Mary – who was a mother and could only want the best for all her children, right? I added the light of my tiny votive candle to St. Jude’s flame of hopeless causes every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon.
I convinced myself that one day my boy’s big blue eyes would fix on mine, and he’d smile. At me. Not just in the general direction of me, or at the place where I was last, but at ME. All my problems would have been divinely solved. The people in my life unwittingly fed his crazy venture of mine. Everywhere I went it seemed that someone, knew someone, who was the second cousin of someone, who’d been healed of some terrible affliction by belief alone. I was just biding my time until I could find my miracle.
Crazy, I know.
Religious mania aside, I was taking steps to raise a blind child. Almost instinctively at this point.
Gabriel was a chubby 6 month old cherub by this time. He was still small, but not alarmingly so anymore. He was laughing, smiling, go-go-googling at me and showing crazy awareness of music. However, he’d never shown the slightest interest in self-propulsion. Sure he could roll over, but didn’t much like it. That was it. Roll over, roll back. Tummy time..sure…whatever. He didn’t crawl. He had no motivation.
I realized that I had to take drastic action. I took his favorite toy. I prayed over it. It was one of those baby jobbies. You pushed the button and it plays a song. The song was either ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ or ‘Bust a Move’, I can’t remember exactly. I gave it to him, he pushed the button and then jammed out to the song. He laughed and reached for the button again. I let him push it, pulled the toy from his grasp and then put it just out of reach. He stopped laughing and made a face I’d never before seen unaccompanied by gas. His eyes filled with tears and smile faded.
I was a monster. As I held that toy approximately 4 inches away from my now suffering child I knew the truth. I was a brutal, savage, sight-grubbing, toy-stealing, horrible mother. I sucked. I was an evil abomination. The fleas of 10,000 camels should infest my underpants because that was no less than I deserved. I probably would have thought of even more scathing self-recriminations, but a flash of movement caught my eye.
Ok, ok. It wasn’t a flash… or even moving all that fast. It was Gabriel. Crawling. Smiling again, wider than ever. Head held high (a centimeter off the carpet), threading drool (on the carpet) he reached his toy and celebrated (by resting in his drool spot on the carpet). He gave his toy a celebratory fist bump and it played it’s tin can song. He laughed, pushed it away himself, and crawled to it again.
I stopped praying. No scratch that. I still pray every day. I accepted and rejoiced in what I had. I stopped asking for more, I stopped nagging. I realized that sometimes the answer is just no. I realized that things happen for reasons that we can’t always understand. That there is so much more out there than we can see with our eyes. That in order to have faith, you also have to relinquish control.
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