Vandom Acts of Randall-ism, part III

Randall and I have had some poignant talks this week in between trying to be brave for the other, alternately laughing, tearing up, and musing at the ludicrousness that his dad will be on vacation, again, while Randall's in the hospital. (Well, at least I won't have to call this time. He's in Mexico, out of cell phone range, having a vacation from not working for the last four years. But I digress. )

This morning's focus, at the church we attend, was not on Palm Sunday for whatever reason, but on the Crucifixion. At the recounting of the arrest in the Garden, we both mused on why the people who witnessed Jesus replacing the cut off ear of the Roman guard didn't back off in amazement. Maybe it was too dark. Maybe they didn't see in the crush of the crowds. Dunno. Rand said you'd think that would be pretty convincing, to see a guy pick up and ear that had been sliced off with a sword and reattach it.

Anyway, we talked about his upcoming surgery after church. He said he wasn't worried. I sighed a little, and remarked that I was. " I have to be real. I'm worried. I believe that God wants to release you from the stupid ITP blood disorder after all these years, but I would be lying to you and everyone if I claimed total peace." I told him if Jesus could have a moment of trepidation, and wonder if the cup could be taken from Him, then it was okay for us to be worried and concerned and a little anxious.


If it's okay for Jesus to say it, it's okay for us. He teared up too, and then we decided to laugh ourselves into hysteria because it was more fun than crying. 


Jesus worried. For a moment.  


" Do I really have to do this?" He didn't spout sing-song faith, he didn't act like He wasn't troubled. HE worried so much the drops of blood feel from His brow, way before the crown of thorns, in the cool of the Garden. He asked, out loud, "Can You take this cup from me?", even though He knew that wasn't in the design. That chapter always gets to my heart, since it's the burden of proof to me that Christ was one of us. Validation that it is perfectly acceptable to be perfectly human, and worry, and cry, and sweat.  


And then He trusted. On His way to an overnight imprisonment in a dank cistern under the High Priest's house, He picked up a lopped off ear and put it back where it belonged, telling Peter to put away his sword. 


For fourteen years I have prayed for Randall to be healed, to be whole, to be able to go to the batting cages and play tackle football and go skiing and all the other things he cannot do at present, or ever, with no platelets. 


I'm worried. I can't lie. Randall going into surgery with one-tenth of the platelets that they allow in emergencies is daunting, as his surgeon says. 


I know God is present, and I know He loves my son as much as He loves His. That's all I know, today. So I worry, and I trust, and allow the Plan to unfold. Just like Jesus in the Garden.