Zion Scott

It's hard to believe I'm back home while my baby is 30 minutes away, fighting to remain stable. My favorite part of the day at the clinic was when I could shuffle or be wheeled down to the elevator and ride a floor up into the neonatal nursery to see my son. I enjoyed the beeps of his monitors, assured that as long as I heard the rhythmic beeping, my son was still breathing. I liked to hear his doctor tell me that he was stable. I didn't like to hear him tell me (as he did several times) that he caused him suffering last night or made him age 10 years (when his lung collapsed). But I loved to wash my hands, warm them up under his heater and grab a tiny arm or leg and start talking to him. He's mostly sedated at this point and has a couple tubes coming out of his mouth and had one coming out of each side keeping air moving past his lungs. They usually have his eyes covered with some type of bandage and keep little cotton puffs on his feet to keep them warm. But, he's still adorable and one morning I was able to see his whole face uncovered and noticed immediately how much he looks like his daddy. I would talk to him about Natalie and the kitties and what we would do when he comes home. I would tell him to get strong fast and not to forget that when Mommy and Daddy aren't around, God is right there with him. I read him one of my new favorite Psalms (105) and sang "Jesus Loves Me" to him ("Little ones to Him belong; they are weak, but He is strong). I tried not to cry a lot. Today he seemed more responsive to our touch and voice, jerking his little arms or legs a bit when we would caress him. As much as I did not care for the clinic I was in, I would have happily stayed in his nursery room until he was ready to come out. We were distracted as we drove home today, so I didn't have much time to think about the fact that we were leaving our baby behind, but as soon as I got in the door and looked around, home just didn't feel right without Zion in it. I didn't know where to start. Since I was on bed rest for 9 days, and then recovering from a C-section for another 3, a shower sounded nice, but I couldn't manage to bring myself to do anything for a while but sit on the couch and stare into space. How could something so familiar and normal suddenly feel so out of whack? My thoughts keep drifting back to my little guy- his chest being forced up and down by a ventilator, his cute little perfect toes, his adorable nose being stretched a bit to one side from the tubes, his somewhat transparent skin. The last couple of weeks have definitely taught me how to pray and how to recollect my thoughts to the truths of who the Lord is when they start to wander to those dark places. Not one day has gone by where I haven't felt God's presence, even in the midst of despair, sadness, fear and pain. I know we have a long road ahead and even now I have a hard time trusting that our baby will be OK. I've read the Bible too much and known too many amazing Christian people who have gone through tragedy to believe that God's perfect plan is always the one we would choose for it to be. But, I continue to trust that He will sustain us, our son, our faith and prove Himself good. His promises are the only firm and unchanging things in my life.