I decided to write this for the benefit of some people that I know that may have lost their faith in God. This is not an extensive treatise on my faith journey, but a quick summary of the major elements that have me where I am.
Shortly after I was born, my mom noticed that my head didn't look right. After consulting with the pediatrician, they decided my condition required further investigation. It looked like the right side of my head was caved in. It was so noticeable, that baby pictures of me all have me in a hat or some kind of head covering, and I'm turned to show the left side. My head was not right.
Consulting with a neurologist lead to the diagnosis of craniosynostosis. It is a condition where the plates in the skull fuse together prematurely, causing the rest of the skull to develop incorrectly. At the insistence of my pediatrician, it was decided that I would undergo surgery.
The surgery was performed and successful. Other than a really nasty scar on the side of my head, you really can't tell there was ever a problem.
Growing up, I always did well in school. Through grade school and high school, I was in the top 3 of my class. Despite successes in school, I was not a great athlete. I was even worse as making and keeping friends. Quite often, I was picked on in school.
I always struggled with the conversations about how everyone has a talent or gift. I wasn't good at sports, I don't have any musical talent, and any talents I did seem to have always drew ridicule. It was not uncommon for me to get down on myself and wonder if I was really meant to be here. (Just to be clear, I never contemplated suicide, just challenged what my purpose on earth was.)
The feelings of not being meant to be here lingered on and off into my adult life. That is, until my third son came along.
My third son came along, and was a fantastic infant. My mom would always ask about a spot on his forehead that didn't look right, and my wife and I would say it looked fine. After a LOT of asking, we decided to ask our pediatrician about it. She didn't see anything, but recommended an MRI to be safe. The MRI revealed that my son also had craniosynostosis! It was a different spot on his head, but he had the same thing.
All of a sudden, I'm in a whirlwind of doctor's visits that lead to the decision for my 9-month-old son to have the same kind of surgery. One afternoon, my wife and I were sitting in the office of a plastic surgeon with our son, talking to the plastic surgeon and a neurosurgeon about the surgery my son was about to undergo. Growing up, my mom always described my surgery as a doctor cutting open my head, inserting a biodegradable plastic thingy, and stitching me up. Here is how my son's surgery was described to me: the plastic surgeon would make an incision from ear to ear on my son's scalp, remove the fused plates on the top of his skull, break them apart, and put them back together with effectively a biodegradable erector set. What?!? The neurosurgeon would be present to make sure the membrane separating the skull from the brain wasn't damaged and no other harm came to the brain or nervous system. What?!? The entire surgery would take about 3 hours.
From there, there were numerous hours of planning an preparation to have my son in the hospital with my wife staying with him. Myself and family members donated blood to have on hand just in case. It was overwhelming.
On the day of the surgery, we had to take him to a pre-op room to get him ready. The anesthesiologist gave him a medicine mixture to start slowing him down. Then a nurse took him from my wife's arms and walked him to surgery. We were left to wait in a waiting room for 3 hours. It was the worst 3 hours of my life!
The surgery was successful! Needless to say, during the surgery and since, I have reflected on this quite a bit. My son's surgeons were quite skilled. The neurosurgeon was well-known for his work, and the plastic surgeon was well-known for helping kids with cleft palates. These miracle-workers had done this surgery a lot, and were prepared for everything. When this surgery was done on me, it was not well-known or well-practice. The doctor that operated on me was knowledgeable of neurosurgery, but I don't think he was well-practiced in fixing craniosynostosis. The only conclusion I could draw from these experiences is that my life, like all lives, is a gift from God. He punctuated it for me by carrying me through a very risky surgery when I was just 7 months old. He left a scar on me to remind me of my gift.
I am an imperfect human being, prone to sin. I don't always live my life as I should. I'm not always the beacon of Christ's love for me to others. My I am much more aware of my life as a gift, and I am working daily to be a better disciple.
I hope that my journey to realizing the great gift I've been given will help others recognize their lives as tremendous gifts, given to them by a loving God.
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