.Fighting Fear.

[This is my second time writing this post. Blogger ate the first one. I am so annoyed, and I am getting closer and closer to moving to word press. I apologize because I know this post will probably be choppy and disjointed. {sigh}]

My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. ~ Psalm 73:26

We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. ~ 2 Corinthians 10:5

These are the verses that I am trying to push through my mind this week. On Thursday Jamesy is scheduled to undergo an MRI, and I am swallowing fear. It is sitting knotted in the bottom of my stomach. I know the truth that this fear does not come from God (2 Timothy 1:7), and it makes me angry that the truth is not enough to dissolve it. So here I sit anxious with a knotted stomach and wound nerves.

Of course the procedure itself is making me apprehensive. None of my children have ever had to undergo anesthesia before. We really have no idea about Jamesy's medical history, and that is making me nervous. I know that there can be risks and adverse reactions and effects because of anesthesia. I am focusing hard on dwelling on the truth, though and not the what-ifs.

More than the procedure though, the diagnosis is eating away at me. Jamesy's pediatric opthamologist told us that Jamesy's optic nerves were underdeveloped. Then she requested an MRI to examine the midline of his brain. She was rather illusive about what she was looking for. Unfortunately I am a voracious researcher. I tried to stay away from researching what she was looking for at first, but I gave in. I am now positive that he is being tested for optic nerve hypoplasia. In my heart I also am certain that Jamesy will be diagnosed with this, which I have yet to admit to anyone - even Jim. From my research I have not found one instance where someone with underdeveloped optic nerves does not have ONH. But I keep reminding myself that we serve a great, big God, who has done amazing things in Jamesy's life already. God is bigger than a medical diagnosis or medical science.

I have felt as if I have been strapped onto an emotional roller coaster since September when we accepted Jamesy's referral. We accepted him with the diagnosis of bilateral blindness (complete blindness in both eyes) and with severe, chronic malnutrition. We knew that because of Jamesy's malnutrition there was a chance that he would be mentally retarded, developmentally challenged, or learning disabled. I knew Jamesy was my son, but I also battled very real fears about mothering him as I prepared my heart for him to come home. I researched what to do with our home for a blind child, braille, walking sticks, programs that could help us, etc. Then we began receiving reports from families in Ethiopia that Jamesy had at least some sight. And the rest is history if you have been following along. Jamesy seems healthy and has been diagnosed with just congenital nystagmus - not blindness like we had thought. We are still praising God.

But.

Many of those old fears and insecurities have resurfaced with this impending diagnosis.

Even with all of that, though, what I am most nervous about is the fact that Jamesy has to fast from Wednesday night midnight until after his MRI (it is scheduled for Thursday at 10:30 AM). This knowledge is just killing me. We have worked very purposefully to help Jamesy thrive and bond and attach to us. God has been so good, and amazing steps toward healing have happened quickly. We know how vital it is to provide for Jamesy's physical needs immediately, and we will not be able to do this on Thursday. We will have to ignore Jamesy's cries for a bottle and breakfast on Thursday morning, and I have no way to explain to him why. It terrifies me for Jamesy to feel hunger pains. He knows hunger. He knows starvation. He was starved for the first seven months of his life. In fact when we went to Philadelphia the adoption specialist pointed out permanent physical signs on Jamesy's body of the starvation he endured. I am begging God to give Jamesy a peace that I am not able to give to him.

[Jamesy went for his pre-op physical yesterday and came through very healthy. We are praising God for the fact that the doctor said his ears look great! We are so thankful that we did not jump right into getting tubes placed in his ears. It just did not feel right for our Jamesy. He will undergo a hearing test and another visit with the ENT at the end of the month. But for now, he is doing great, seems to hear just fine, and has gone the longest ever between ear infections!]

Writing all of this is my plea for you to pray for my Jamesy and for peace over all of this. I just want Thursday over with so that we can have a plan of action for our sweet boy. I have told people often that I look at Jamesy and I honestly forget that I was not the one who gave birth to him. He feels like my flesh and blood. I knew I loved him, and I had hoped to experience this, but it still takes my breath away.

I would walk this road to and with Jamesy 1000 times over again just for the blessing of calling him my son. It is so worth it. It is worth every fear, every heart ache, every tear, every hard thing. Adoption is a beautiful reflection of the gospel and God's love for me. I cannot even imagine where we would be had we said no to adoption, to Ethiopia, to special needs, to Jamesy. I have no idea why God chose to rescue us from the bondage of materialism that we masked in our Christianity.

But I am thankful.

Humbled.

Undeserving.