Austin Lewter, Jefferson Jimplecute
Many of you may remember the rough start we had with our son.
He is 13 now and time flies.
But, time crept by early on.
He was born at 28 weeks of gestation.
My wife was in a car accident. She was six months into an, until then, normal pregnancy.
She was on her way to work.
He was born late that afternoon.
An early birth in Sherman led to a helicopter ride to Dallas later that night.
Normal preemie precautions were taken early on.
When he was a few days old, a scan of his brain detected severe bleeding.
They told us he may never walk or talk.
When he was 17 days old, he contracted a infection in his gut.
Some parents of preemies might be familiar with the abbreviation “NEC.” It is short for a nasty infection to which preemies are prone.
It was eating his intestine and it moves fast.
We had gone home for the day to grab a few things and rest up a few hours.
The first call came when we were in Collinsville, on our way back to the Dallas hospital.
“Mr. Lewter,” the nurse said. “It appears we are dealing with NEC and that is always a challenge.”
“We are on our way,” I replied.
The second call came when we were at George Bush and Central— a few miles from the hospital.
“Mr. Lewter,” she said. “We have called the surgeon but I have to inform you, things look grim. I am not sure your son is going to survive.”
We kept driving.
By the time we got back to the hospital, the surgeon was prepped to work right there in Jackson’s ICU room.
He was too fragile to be moved.
The great work and strong faith of our surgeon is the topic for another column.
As is the conversation I had with God while Jackson was in surgery, but suffice it to say, he came through.
The surgeon told us that night, “We are not out of the woods yet, but we are still in the woods and that’s better than the alternative.”
Jackson was attached to every machine imaginable and they told us the next 12 hours was critical.
“He may not make it though the night,” we were told.
We could not stay with him that night. The machines took up every extra inch in his little room.
He had a good nurse. A man named Jeff and we left him in his hands.
We stayed the night at my in-laws’ house in Irving and I didn’t sleep much.
I tossed and turned.
I kept asking myself, “What am I supposed to do?”
Here I was with a sick infant everyone wanted to tell me was terminal and a wife struggling with emotions of her own.
What was I supposed to do? How would we handle this?
What could we do?
Even when I dozed, those same questions rambled in my head.
We headed straight to the hospital the next morning.
For some reason, I decided to drive down Irving Boulevard and out to I-30 instead of our regular route up to 183.
“Why are you going this way,” Jennifer asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Just felt like it I guess.”
There was not much thought to it, I just turned right instead of my usual left some reason. I really didn’t know why.
As we drove, the same question circled my head.
What am I supposed to do? Over and over.
What am I supposed to do?
As this questioned swirled, I noticed the marquee of a neighborhood church along the route.
In big black letters the sign said, “1st Thessalonians 5:17.”
I was not familiar with the verse and thought, “I need to look that up later.”
We got to the hospital, got an update and found a few of the machines had been removed. The severity level had lessened and Jackson was stabilizing.
Still though, I thought, “What am I supposed to do?” Having a sick kid is the most helpless feeling in the world— especially one in an ICU situation.
I saw Jackson’s little Precious Moments Bible on the shelf by his bed and remembered the sign I had seen earlier that morning.
I picked it up and thumbed to the verse… 1st Thessalonians 5:17.
I froze when I found it.
Three words.
“Pray without ceasing.”
My question had been answered. What was I supposed to do?
Pray without ceasing.
Why did I turn right that morning? It was not coincidence.
The Lord had a message for us. We just had to seek it out.
Pray without ceasing.
That’s what we did.
The kid who wasn’t going to survive— did.
Pray without ceasing.
The kid who wasn’t supposed to ever eat real food on his own— does.
Pray without ceasing.
The kid who wasn’t supposed to walk or talk— does.
Pray without ceasing.
The kid who a doctor told us just last year should not be able to function at all— is on the honor roll at his elementary school.
Pray without ceasing.
It hasn’t been easy. It hasn’t been a cake walk.
We spent almost a year in the hospital.
Pray without ceasing.
It became our normal.
Pray without ceasing.
But, now it is all a testimony we get to share.
So, whatever you are going through.
Pray without ceasing.
Your family is having trouble getting on the same page.
Pray without ceasing.
Struggling with the loss of a loved one.
Pray without ceasing.
You are suffering with illness.
Pray without ceasing.
Your community is divided over issues of public policy.
Pray without ceasing.
There is power in the consistency of prayer.
There is contentment in laying your issues at the feet of Christ.
Whatever troubles you— pray without ceasing.ndricks for offering it.
Austin Lewter is the co-publisher and editor of The Jefferson Jimplecute. He can be reached at jeffersonjimplecute@gmail.com