We were transferred from ICU to the stroke floor yesterday. Our new room is still a hospital room but it definitely has more of a hotel/home-like feel than the trauma unit. And after sleeping in a chair for 8 straight nights, this foldout chair bed in our new room was like a little slice of heaven for me. I slept good last night. My papa had another brain scan yesterday. It revealed some bleeding in the stroke area which his neurologist says is somewhat concerning. Swelling is still there but not increasing. I’m convinced the whole medical field is trained to share the diagnosis of my papa to me in such a way that in the moment their words begin to flow, they put me in some sort of trance. I shake my head in agreement as though everything they are saying makes perfect sense yet as soon as the doctors walk away and the doors close behind them I snap out of the hypnotic state and find I’m totally clueless. To be perfectly honest, I don’t really know what’s going on in my papa’s brain—doctors say some bleeding, some swelling. I say in the name of Jesus, some healing.
This morning we woke up about 15 minutes before 8. He yawns big and stretches his strong right arm above his head. This triggers the same big yawn from me. The nurse quietly flushes his picc line and it’s only because I’ve lived in a hospital for the last 10 days that I’m able to talk about such things like flushing picc lines. The nurse leaves and our room is still dark but there is peace in this place. I breathe easy. I sit up on my bed that positions me to keep a close eye on my papa. My first sleepy words come out happy, “Bonjou papa mwen.” I tell my papa good morning. Looking my way, he smiles big.
I keep turning the thermostat up in our room, and when I’m not looking one of the nurses turn it back down. So I’m cold and I don’t want to get out from under my warm covers but my bible is sitting on the end table at the head of my papa’s hospital bed on the other side of the room. I need my bible. I need it for me and I need it for my papa. In Haiti my papa would wake up, pray, read his bible and drink some coffee. For this season I choose to read his bible for him and out of all of the things I’m doing to help him through this devastation, reading God’s word to him is most satisfying. It makes him happy and that makes me happy. God’s word is good like this.
I flip to 2 Corinthians chapter 4 and read verses 16-18.
I skip over to the next chapter and read verse 7—you know the one. It talks about walking by faith and not by sight. It doesn’t matter that I’ve read, reread, and repeated this verse a guh-zillion times over my lifetime. This morning, when I read it out loud in Haitian Creole to my papa, it penetrates fresh and deep. My papa is walking. It’s not in the way the world can see in the flesh…he’s walking in a much more beautiful way. He’s walking by faith and I’m right there with him—holding his hand and believing for the impossible. God made me for this and never does my heavenly Daddy give me more than I can handle.
I imagine myself sitting with him on the wooden benches under his church in Haiti—a few pillars supporting the sheet metal roof and children running out in the yard nearby. I read the verse slow. 2 Corinthians 5:7, “For we walk by faith, not by sight.”
“Si n’ap mache, se pa paske nou we tout bagay kle, men se paske nou ge konfyans nan Kris la.”
These words soak into my papa’s soul and when I finish reading this verse, right there in his hospital bed and all on his own, he lifts his right hand and says with a strong voice, “Ah-men!” He’s coming back to me. I’m praising Jesus and I almost laugh because of the joy that floods my heart in that holy moment. I burst with excitement, “Papa, you just said Ah-men!” He smiles proud, shakes his head and says “Wi” (that means yes). Each little miracle adds up bringing glory to our Lord Jesus. And I want you to know that with each and every one of my papa’s victories I never once forget YOU! I know there are multitudes praying fervently out there on behalf of my papa and what I know is that those prayers are being answered. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I love you all.
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