4 ~ (June 18–mid July, 1983)
Signs and Wonders
Saturday evening of the Dilemma Weekend, the hospital allowed us to take six-week-old Karis with all her paraphernalia downstairs to the chapel, where members of our church had gathered. Together we asked God for confirmation that we were not to stop the TPN, that we should take her home, and an indication of his plans and intentions for Karis, so that we would know how to pray for her with confidence.
As we prayed, several people believed that God was saying that Karis would be healed. Our friend Jan had a clear picture of Karis at three years old, with long blonde braids riding a tricycle on a sunny sidewalk in front of a gray house. Jan believed the vision meant that Karis would be healed at age three. Jan told us that through our child, whose name means grace, God would reveal his love to many people.
Jan’s picture was much more attractive than the one the doctors had painted for us! When we took Karis back upstairs from the hospital chapel to her room, we were sure that we should insist on taking her home. And we had the hope that God was going to do something special for her, maybe not right away, but at least by age three.
As we slept that night, for the first time, Karis’s intestine functioned! The doctors’ basic premise—that Karis’s intestine would never function—was foiled by the mundanity of a soiled ostomy pouch! Now they had to let us take her home. Over the next two weeks, as I was being trained to administer TPN and care for a central catheter, Karis’s intestine functioned consistently. Cautiously at first, then more boldly, the doctors started giving her oral fluids, and she never threw up again. By the time I was fully trained for home TPN, Karis wasn’t using it anymore—she was nursing, with her central line capped off! (Early on, the doctors had told us that if she ever tolerated anything, it would be breast milk, so I had worked hard to keep my supply of milk available for her, just in case . . .) People at the hospital started calling Karis the “miracle baby.”
On Friday July 1st, just in time to attend my brother’s wedding the next day, we took Karis home with great joy, believing that God had fully healed her. We decided that our friend Jan must have imagined her vision of Karis being healed at three years. Jan herself was confused, since at just two months, Karis was already well!
So it seemed to us, and so it seemed to the doctors, who in August decided to pull her central line. What a day of rejoicing that was for us, even though Dr. R scorned the “Miracle Baby” name with which the nurses greeted Karis. He was sure there was a logical, physical, medical explanation for what had happened, even though he couldn’t explain what it was.
Karis thrived. Aside from her scars and her ileostomy, she was a perfectly healthy, bright and delightful child. Dave and I tucked away the first two confusing months of Karis’s life as a closed chapter, ready to enjoy a happy future with our two darling children.
In early May, I had prepared our large backyard garden plot for a rich array of vegetables. Friends had offered to help me plant the garden on Saturday May 7th. Since Karis was born two days before, I was unable to help, but our friends came anyway and planted the garden according to the plans I had drawn up. That was the last day anyone touched that garden for more than two months.
It was mid-July before I could finally take stock of the garden, after resettling at home and getting some routines in place for taking care of my two young children. The entire plot was covered with weeds that were taller than my head! What a mess. Whenever I had free time, I would distract almost-two-year-old Danny with some toys in his little plastic wading pool, settle Karis to nap in a shady spot, slather on sunscreen, and tackle the weeds.
To my amazement, down in the darkness under those weeds, every single vegetable had sprouted and grown! I had such bounty that I imagine my neighbors groaned when they saw me approaching their doors with more produce to share. The garden became for me a living image of the grace of God. We had done the little that we could do, but when we could do no more, he made the garden grow. It was a touch of generosity that warmed and healed my heart, and nurtured my trust.
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