The Feeding Tube
I could tell Titus wasn’t gaining weight, so I called my girlfriend who is also his pediatrician, and she told us to come in the back door of the office. We got to see leftover birthday cake on a side table and peek into the real-life world of doctors with cubicles full of photographs of their own children. The medical world mostly freaks me out, and I’d just as soon see a medicine man in the bush than go back to the hospital, but she’s such a friend, and I trust her.
Titus laid naked, all grins, on the scales, and I knew he hadn’t grown, but it showed he had lost a pound. As if we had never visited the hospital, he was back down to 15.4 pounds. I had all the boys with me and called Seth to meet us in a procedure room so we could learn together how to insert a feeding tube for home.
If you’ve never seen one, it’s a tube that goes down the nose and into the tummy. I basically stick a turkey baster to the end of it and pump in the needed formula. Without the tube, things could be bad super quickly, but we have peace along side frustration. I finally cried with my community group last night. Brothers hugged me good and sisters wrapped their arms around my legs and sat with me. One sobbed into my ear. The tears were good.
Other than that, I cried this morning about Tom Cruise, which has to be a red flag for misplaced emotions, if I have my guess. My head is throbbing, and I’ve eaten so much chocolate cake for breakfast.
Right now a guy from our community has the oldest boys down at the creek, and it’s nap time for Titus. The air conditioner is working hard. I feel outside of my body. Seth is at work having to be a person. Titus is not okay, and we have very few answers.
Right now I know for certain that God loves me as much now as He loves me when we are all well. I can’t do extra begging or jumping jacks to get him to pour it on thicker. It’s already thick. I know that Titus is not mine. I know that you don’t earn your giftings. You don’t earn God.
He just is.
You don’t know how brave you really are until you quieten down at the burning bush.