The Joy in Anna

THE JOY IN ANNA

by David Sherwood  |  December 15, 2015

Expecting our second child, Luke, Jeannie and I ignorantly prayed that God would manipulate our circumstances to give us an easier child than our first. Life with a healthy, rambunctious two-year-old seemed so challenging to us, and we whole-heartedly believed that a life made easier would be a life made better. In His mercy, God blessed us with a son with a set of trials which would teach us that an easy life is often the enemy of a better life. Luke’s constant joy in the midst of painful and maddeningly frustrating circumstances cut us to the heart. He exposed our lust for comfort and control, our bent toward pitying but not helping those who suffer, and our sense of wimpish entitlement to health and leisure. Of course, he did all of this without saying a word. Words could never have exposed so much in such a short time anyway. We’ve learned much about ourselves through Luke, and much more about who we want to become. Being a witness to the parable of my son Luke has stirred up inside of us more compassion, humility, appreciation for time and opportunity, and motivation to come along side others who are suffering than ever could have been otherwise. Our prayers were too myopic. We’re now grateful that God would not settle for simply granting us our version of a life that was “better,” but instead chose to make us better.

With the comparatively small taste of trial we’ve experienced with our son Luke, we have been reborn and planted into the reality that God is utterly efficient. Never is a life experience wasted. He can use any circumstance, no matter how far outside His will and desire, to create more love, more hope, more faith, more understanding, and more beauty. God is enraptured with taking that which is wretched and causing it to produce goodness. God takes great joy in using that which was meant for evil to bring about the good He had planned all along for those that have lashed themselves to His mast. The greatest evil ever committed, the murder of Love personified, was fashioned into the key cog in Love’s victory over evil. God cannot be defeated. His love cannot be thwarted. He has shown this to us through our experiences with Luke over and over again. Sometimes we even notice.

God has been in constant activity in our lives, like a judo master, turning back the momentum of the evil blows on the circumstances meant to destroy us.  Through our experience with Luke, we’ve begun to realize the depth of our selfishness. We’ve been able to look into the world with new eyes, with a more proper perspective. Even though we have had to grieve the loss of what we desired our family life to be, our prayers now have less to do with being granted an easier life, and much more to do with being made into stronger, God-dependant people. God has shown us through our son that a life supernaturally devoid of pain is far less valuable than being supernaturally made into people that can endure lives of trial. Of course, this truth is difficult to grasp and retain in the midst of being uprooted from newly established zones of comfort.

Luke’s life has been an ongoing series of taking three steps forward, and two steps back. On one particular journey backward, I found myself in a dark place of discouragement. I didn’t want to think about what it would take to be made into a man who could endure yet another disappointment; I just wanted things to be better. I wanted my son to be better. I wanted to rest. I wanted God to change my circumstances. He did. One afternoon during this time in a valley, I came home to find my wife sitting on our bed staring at a pregnancy test. I sat down next to her with baited breath. We didn’t speak. In a few seconds, she looked up at me with wide eyes, and said, “Oh mercy” (only, she didn’t say “mercy”). We sat, speechless, for the next ten minutes unable to move.

We had slipped back into a pattern of believing that easier, more comfortable lives were what would be best. Even after experiencing such growth in character and perspective through trial, we began to forget just how lost we were in our world of idolized comfort. We began to forget how God supernaturally sustained us through Luke’s near-death encounters, his brain surgeries, and seizure battles. We began to believe again that peace could only be found in more comfortable circumstances, discounting past experiences of receiving supernatural strength, peace, and enlightenment.

After the initial jolt of realizing God’s answer to our prayer for relief from our circumstances seemingly would be to intensify them, we repented from our distrust in God’s ability to change us and not just our circumstances. We began to prepare ourselves for new levels of understanding through new hardship, asking for the faith to believe that God would continue to sustain us and shape us through any trial on the horizon. God answered the prayer that we were too ignorant to pray. Instead of revealing more truth about us, He revealed to us the key truth about Himself. Anna Joy was born in June of 2012. As it would turn out, this little girl, miraculously, was the rest for which we were desperate. There has never been an easier to satisfy infant than our Anna Joy Sherwood. She was born with supernatural empathy. She learned to crawl at three months old. She learned to stand using her brother Luke’s roller chair, and later would take steps pushing him around the living room. She would bring toys to his lap even before she could stand unaided. Her smile and laughter fill a room, and her hugs and kisses eradicate all feelings of discouragement. Since she was two, she would climb into my lap, take my face in her hands and say, “Papa, how was your day today?” Far from adding any stress to our lives, she has easily cut our stress level in half. After we quickly forgot about how God had worked powerfully through our circumstances with Luke, we did not feel we deserved the kind of child we received. God saw it differently. God loves to give to those that which they do not deserve. God loves to show favor to those who have realized that they have done nothing to merit it. God taught us about grace through the gift of our little Anna Joy.

Expecting our third child, God renewed our faith in the belief that easier circumstances do not necessitate better circumstances. We prepared ourselves, praying that God would help us to endure and learn from the new levels of chaos a newborn was sure to bring to our already life-altering situation. God again answered a prayer we were not capable of praying. Our circumstances created a unique opportunity for God to demonstrate His grace toward us. He supplied us with the peace and rest for which we were desperate through the most unlikely means. He demonstrated His love and favor toward us using that which seemed most illogical. We have discovered how to focus on the blessings that are obvious, and even how to see the more profound blessings disguised as trials. We’ve been made better able to distinguish between the source of true joy and its counterfeits.

Anna is now four years old. Jeannie and I have learned what seems to be a lifetime of lessons in just the past six years. More often than I’d like to admit, I still fall back into feelings of self-pity, and discouragement. Two years after Anna was born, I was in a valley, focusing again on my current uncomfortable circumstances and wishing for a different path. In a moment of grace, God put a thought into my mind. I began to think about names. Many stories recorded in Scripture involve God changing the names of those who experience significant trial, and subsequent enlightenment. Abram became Abraham, Jacob became Israel, Simon became Peter, Saul became Paul, etc. (Jeannie and I struggled to come to a consensus when it came to naming our kids. Both Noah and Luke went without names until a few days after they were born! We chose their names simply based on how they sounded to us.) In this instance of discouragement and self-pity God impressed me to look up the meanings of my kids’ names. I did. I took out a piece of blank paper and wrote out each of their first and middle names:

Noah

James

Luke

Joseph

Anna

Joy

As I looked up each name, I wrote down its meaning beside it. What I discovered still brings me chills and encouragement even today.

Noah means Comfort

James (from Jacob) means Deceiver

Luke means Light

Joseph means Increase

Anna means Grace

Joy means Joy

As I realized the magnitude of what I had just written down, I began to shake. God had just told the story of the most significant lesson Jeannie and I had learned in our lives using the names we thought we chose for our children.

Comfort (Noah) has deceived (James) you.

So, I will give you Light (Luke) Increased (Joseph) – enlightenment.

So that you may know that it is the experience of true Grace (Anna) that brings lasting Joy (Joy).

This experience has become an anchor point for my faith in God. I have been shown, utterly, that He is and has been writing the story of my life, and that His greatest desire is to show me who I am, and who He is. He wants to know me, and He wants me to know Him. I believe that in every circumstance, whether it is according to His will or not, He is looking and able to cause it to work together for good. Because of this experience I know that God is for me, no matter how it may seem from my limited perspective. And I know that if this God is for me, there is nothing that can keep me from becoming more like Him in perseverance, compassion, joy, and love.

The Parable of Luke: Part 2

THE PARABLE OF LUKE: PART 2

by David Sherwood  |  February 23, 2012

Rushing out of the revolving door, we made our way home to Tennessee after staying two days in our hotel to be sure Luke was well enough to travel. The next five months was a game of wait and see; waiting to see if he would meet his normal milestones, or if he would be delayed. The former proved to be the case. In February, we had an MRI done at our local hospital as a check up, and had the reading overnighted to Dr. Berenstein, Luke’s surgeon. He called us upon reviewing it, and said we should make plans for a return visit as soon as feasible, as Luke would need another surgery. We also made appointments with the neurologist and neuro-ophthalmologist in New York since we had concerns about Luke’s vision as well as some funny movements he would make from time to time.

This picture captured one of the most incredible moments of my life. We had just walked into our hotel from the hospital. He fell asleep there on my chest for over an hour.

The surgery was a success, and would be his last, praise God!, but his next two appointments were not so encouraging. The neuro-ophthalmologist told us that Luke was cortically blind, and only time would tell if he would ever be able to see more than shadows. The neurologist kept him in the hospital for a 48-hour EEG. The results of the test revealed that Luke was having Infantile Spasms, a severe seizure disorder, which if not treated quickly and aggressively, could develop into chronic, life-long seizures. The doctor prescribed ACTH injections to be given daily. The side effects of the $28,000 per week medication(!), were horrible. Luke developed Cushing’s disease. His face swelled to the point of being unrecognizable, and he developed acne on his face and neck, and grew hair in places a baby should not have hair. The injections made him feel so continually terrible that he would moan and cry if he was not nursing or being rocked. He slept just two hours a night for nearly two months. It was a nightmare. However, the treatment did stop the seizures… for a while.

After the two-month treatment from hell, Luke gradually returned to his normal jovial self. Thinking the seizures were behind us, we moved on to consulting therapists to work on his vision and mobility. While on vacation in Michigan, the seizures came back as strong and scary as ever. His neurologist confirmed that his corrupted brain wave patterns had returned to the same state they were in before the treatment.

We were crushed, again. We cried out to God, again.

He came through with His peace, again.

Luke with big brother Noah.

The return of his seizures began a year-long trial and error search for a medication that would control them. Some were horrible and ineffective. Others were just ineffective, and the last we tried was horrible, and somewhat effective. His seizures were now fewer, yes, but his personality was altered significantly. Understandably, we could not live with this as a long term solution.

We began again to read everything we could get our hands on relating to the treatment of brain-injured children. Our search led us the The Institutes for the Achievement of Human Potential in Philadelphia, PA. My wife and I read their book, What to Do About Your Brain Injured Child, took a week’s worth of courses at the Institutes, and saw first hand the incredible strides they have been able to make with brain-injured kids like Luke. Many first-hand situations that we witnessed border on the miraculous. We began their prescribed home program for cognitive and mobility development and nutrition. Per the program, we began to wean Luke off of his anticonvulsants and to initiate a very intensive home treatment program. I took a leave of absence from teaching to stay home and help habilitate our son (and take care of our new daughter Anna, surprise!).

Six months into the program we are beginning to see some results. Still, the list of things Luke cannot do at two years of age is longer than the list that he can, but we have seen improvements.

We’ve had a couple emergency trips to the ER when he’s gotten sick and the seizures were really bad. Luke still cannot sit up on his own, crawl, use words, drink or feed himself, and we are still in a wait and see situation as far as his quality of life is concerned.

Luke has many disabilities, but his few abilities blow open doors of happiness for all who meet him.

Luke has a smile that is more infectious than ebola.

Ever since we saw the corners of his lips turn upward for the first time, there has only rarely been a day where he doesn’t melt a heart with the flash of his teeth and an indescribable sparkle in his eye. Luke has had some very bad days in his short life, but he smiles through them all. His smile is better than Prozac, and all but vanquishes worry from the minds of his stressed-out parents. He smiles through double ear infections, and countless needle pokes.

His smile is nothing short of heroic.

Luke is a living object lesson. The circumstances that surround every aspect of his treatment, victories, setbacks, and attitude are uncanny in their parabolic nature. It’s as if his life is being played out before us as another revelation of God’s instruction tailored specifically for us, his parents. The spiritual insights God has revealed to me through my son’s life are too numerous to write about here and do them justice.

The Silent Sage, 2 years, 3 months.

I have no hesitation in saying that he has been the most influential teacher I have known, and that I am 10 times the man I would be had he not been born. Sometimes when I look into his eyes I feel like he somehow knows that his life has been, in some way, sacrificed to save me, and he gives it willingly and joyfully. This thought is almost too much for me to bear. Surely, when we are on the other side of eternity, my wife and I, and many others will be jewels in his crown, even if he never utters a word in this life.

Thank you Jesus for allowing me to have a son with the exact abilities and weaknesses to cause me to be bound closer to Your heart.

And thank you, Luke, for giving your life for your father and friend.

I love you.

A poem for my son and hero, Luke––

Silent Sage
In my house there is a silent sage
His wisdom is not delivered on a written page
It comes from his heart and out through his eyes
His lessons are smiles and pensive sighs
His life is a battle with a formidable foe
It starts with his head and extends to his toes
Fighting for control of a rebellious body
With more resoluteness than a rebel army
Even when he falls short of the desired goal
Or resists the pain that’d make him more whole
When I’m sure to keep looking its easy to see
Exactly the lesson he’s playing out just for me
Sometimes I am tempted to think it unfair
Seeing him there in his roller chair
Then I am reminded that his difficult plight
Has made him powerful in the spiritual fight
The little man is a living object lesson
A shining example in each therapy session
Fighting for the souls of his parents
Teaching them the meaning of patience
Leading them to the foot of the Cross
In ways unique to his tragic loss
He eradicates complaining from ignorant lips
Through his smiles on each of his hospital trips
He upends priorities and sets them straight
By his warm embrace and a flint-like face
He’s got more determination in his rigid hand
Than any army fighting for land
He is God’s tool for those who’ll see
He is God’s gift, a hero, to me.

The Parable of Luke

THE PARABLE OF LUKE, PART 1

by David Sherwood  |  February 6, 2012

The great Hellen Keller is noted as having said, “When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.” A little over two years ago my wife and I had a most unexpected door slam shut just as we were walking through it. It smashed us in the face, knocking us to the ground. Then it came off its hinges, fell on top of us, sprouted arms, and began to poke us in the eyes.

At least that’s how I remember it.

It was hard for us to take our eyes off this heavy door since it was flattening our noses with its closeness. However, rather divinely, we realized almost immediately that if we did not get out from underneath this evil door, it would quickly crush us out. God intervened upon hearing our cries for deliverance. He picked us up, dusted us off, and gave us a shove in the direction of the doors opening all around us.

In September of 2009, my wife was great with child, our second. We were eagerly awaiting his arrival, and naively and self-absorbedly praying that this baby boy would not have quite as much energy as our first son. It would be just too overwhelming, we thought.

We were idiots.

Five weeks before the due date, our Ob-Gyn sent us to have an extra ultrasound, because he saw what looked like an enlarged heart. Not thinking too much of the extra visit, as we were told it was probably nothing, we strolled into the office that crisp fall evening stressing about working out childcare for our first son during the upcoming delivery, and the anticipated lack of sleep from new night time baby cries on the horizon.

We were idiots.

The ultrasound gel on my wife’s bulbous belly was barely cleaned off, and the high risk doctor was suddenly in the room with a serious look in his eye. He showed us a picture of our son’s brain, and the large venous malformation in the middle of it. In his 15 years of practicing high-risk obstetrics, he had, he said, never seen anything like it. The last time he remembered hearing about our son’s condition was in med school in a textbook chapter on rare infant brain disorders.

SLAM! We were on the floor, hardly able to breathe.

There were no warnings––35 weeks of perfect check-ups. The doctor called the hospital to advise them of the situation. No one felt remotely comfortable with delivering our child. We were referred to a top-tier hospital two hours away, which offered only a slightly more encouraging option. Our son would need to be delivered very soon, as the enlarged vein in his brain was seriously taxing his heart.

We returned home, and I began the Google marathon. I read every available article about my son’s condition. They were not encouraging. I found that just 10 years earlier, his condition was a death sentence. However, there were new techniques in endovascular brain surgery that had dramatically increased the life expectancy of those born with VGAM (Vein of Galen Aneurysmal Malformation). Many kids are now able to be cured of the malformation, but the quality of life, post-rescue, is a game of wait and see, day by day.

After reading articles for hours, I literally began to call the authors. Not feeling like we were offered much hope at the hospital, I wanted to find the best person in the world to deal with our son’s condition. Within four hours, I had the three top interventional neuroradiologists in the world call me on my cell phone! Two days later we were on a plane to Manhattan, to check in to St. Luke’s-Roosevelt hospital.

Dr. Alex Berenstein, the pioneer of the novel VGAM surgery method would be operating on our son. Luke required two eight-hour surgeries within two days of delivery. He survived, and spent the next six weeks in the NICU at St. Luke’s. The miracles and heartbreaking setbacks experienced in those six weeks would turn this blog into a book. It was a refining time for my wife and me, yet we could not understand the peace we were experiencing. God’s promises went from being quaint phrases stitched into throw pillows to becoming like food––and we were starving! We found all we could eat, and more, as God’s words came alive to feed us in our wilderness experience.

Here Luke is two days old. This was taken just before he went in for his first surgery. I remember taking lots of mental images of him, not knowing what the results of the surgery would be.

This was opening door number one: God’s Word was given its proper place, woven deep into our hearts.

During those six weeks we would not allow ourselves to believe that we would one day leave with Luke in tow. We were preparing ourselves for the worst. Through an agonizing process of taking three steps forward and two steps back, Luke became well enough for us to reasonably believe that he could get out of the box in which he had been living, into our arms, and out the door to home.

Every once in a while I'd get a finger squeeze. They were magical.

After four weeks of requiring a respirator, and our only being able to touch him through access holes in the incubator, the day finally arrived when the tube came out of his chest, and he came out of his box into our eager arms. It was a high day. On two previous occasions upon leaving for the night, we were told that if his respiration numbers remained stable that he would be able to get off the vent the next day and be held. Both times our hopes were dashed; a severe staph infection, and then a 1-in-1000 fever reaction to administered platelets smashed our spirits to pieces.

Here is Luke at four weeks old. He'd been through two surgeries, a life threatening staph infection, and a stroke. He'd just been taken off the respirator, and was my first time holding him. I could have sat there for days.

With each setback and subsequent crying out to God, we regained the mysterious peace Scripture promises. Eventually, fewer monitors were required, and the unplugging process began. He was going to live! On a perfect November afternoon, we walked out the door with our tiny son snuggled into his car seat.

Unfortunately, the door was both literally, and figuratively, a revolving one.

This was his first day of being completely disconnected. The feeling of holding him without having to be concerned about any tubes, or wires being yanked out of place was heavenly. I did sit there for hours.