In an orphanage seven hours away lives a 9 year old little boy. My son is 9, too. This little boy in the village is suffering with epilepsy. My son did, too. Not now, but once. For this boy, up to nine times a day, his little body collapses into seizures. Those who know this little warrior describe him as a “beautiful worshipper”.
I look over in the passenger seat at my Ugandan son, Ezra. We are on our way to the clinic to see the best pediatric neurologist in Uganda to discuss this other boy’s case. “Do you remember this clinic, Ezra?”, I asked him as we pulled into the compound. “Yes, this is the place where they did all those funny tests when my seizures started increasing.” We sat in familiar plastic chairs in the waiting room. I nervously pulled out a pad of paper and pen to pass the time. The pouring rain outside echoed the noise flooding my head. As we played hangman and tick-tac-toe my mind danced between belief and unbelief. I couldn’t believe God brought us back here. Then again…yes, I could. He is known for thoroughly redeeming. In our family, He is famous for it. When we go through something, He often turns us around and takes us back through again. And again. We’ve discovered that it’s in our "agains” that the real work happens.
Two hours later, the doctor God used to put us on the path to Ezra’s healing, leapt out of his seat to hug Ezra. “A miracle is standing in this room! Ezra is cured!”, we exclaimed. Two years ago, when untamed seizures clouded our hope, Dr. Justice believed for us. Now that we’re on the other side, he touches the faded scar on Ezra’s head and scribbles down pages of notes to share with the medical community. He calls in the clinic staff to celebrate and snaps a photo. In a country where brain surgery is impossible and medications are unaffordable, the majority of children and adults with epilepsy are sent to the psychiatric hospital for the rest of their lives. I could see it in the staff’s eyes, Ezra’s life was a beacon of hope for the uncured.
“Thank you for enduring,” Dr. Justice said to us. I began to weep. Few understand how taxing this process has been. Few know what is required and how many children have no chance because the requirement for healing is too high or not understood. Dr. Justice knows what it costs, not just money, life and energy and stress and failure and try again. He knows and he said the words I didn’t know I needed to hear: “thank you for enduring”.
Astounded by the present moment, we went on to discuss this other boy’s case. How can our “enduring" ripple and impact more than just Ezra? I suppose God’s economy sees one Ezra as a thousand children. He sees one Jade as a thousand mothers. Through Christ, one is way more than one. I wonder what God can do.
On the drive home, Ezra and I took a selfie while sitting in a traffic jam.
There are people who are depending on you to show up, flight and persevere.
In Him, your one is way more than one. Give one and watch God blow it up.