FADE IN.
INT. A HOSPITAL DELIVERY ROOM - AFTERNOON
It's Easter, 1985. ROB'S MOTHER is in a bed, sweat across her dark hair. She's in labor, though the pain has been dulled for now. A NURSE walks in, looking unhappy.
Such would be the beginning of the screenplay of my life, though it truly began in time immemorial. God knew there would be a problem. He knew, when He created me, I would be set apart in so many ways. He chose to allow my existence anyway.
The "problem" the nurse referred to is called spina bifida. Essentially, the coating of some nerves along my spinal cord had malformed, creating a balloon for nerves to bundle into. Not so long before 1985, cases as severe as mine were fatal, or left sufferers confined to a wheelchair. Other conditions occur with spina bifida when it's severe, including hydrocephalus.
Also known as "water on the brain," hydrocephalus is a condition in which the natural "drain" a person has for getting rid of excess fluid in their skull doesn't work. The fluid collects around the brain, pushes against the inner walls of the skull, and--in taking the path of least resistance--begins to press in on the soft tissue of the brain.
I will never know exactly how close I came to permanent, debilitating brain damage. Doctors gave my parents a "worst case prognosis" that included my mental capacity capped at that of a three-year old, and my body only slightly more agile than that of a paraplegic. My parents were devastated. My mother endured a seizure, and a painful delivery.
And none of it surprised God.
For two years, my parents accepted God's will, while praying for a miracle. They did what all loving parents do for a child, the best way they knew how. They fed me, clothed me, changed my diapers, and treated the after-effects of numerous surgeries. They worked to pay medical bills, and lived in and out of the hospital. Every visit held a nervous tension, like a piano wire ready to snap.
Christmas of 1987, they bought me a push-around lawn mower toy. It was simple, and it made noise enough to delight any two-year old. What no one expected was for God to give the last gift to my family that year. It was an answer to the prayers my parents had cried since my first prognosis.
I got up and pushed that little lawn mower toy around. I've seen a picture of that moment, and the look on my face then was nothing more than the innocent joy of a child having fun, but it's probably the happiest I've ever been. God knew it was possible. I simply didn't know it was impossible.
I was born on Easter. I did the impossible on Christmas. Some are quick to point out those dates are not an accurate reflection of the events we celebrate on those days, and that's true. It also doesn't matter. What matters is, God worked, in big ways and small, to show Himself. He gave me life on the day we celebrate new life in Christ, and He rescued my family and me from a life of heartache on the day we celebrate the birth of the Savior who rescued us.
A nurse walked in and said, "We have a problem."
God walked in and whispered, "No problem."
I still have spina bifida and hydrocephalus. I do have some mental problems that doctors theorize came from mild brain damage. I've always developed late, and been plagued by issues that have set me behind my peers. In my weakness, God has shown His strength.
There are days I pray for God to heal me, and I believe it's within the realm of possibility. I'm still not entirely used to the quirks of my broken body, and each year brings new surprises...for me, that is. God has never--not once--been surprised.
I am living proof that "fearfully and wonderfully made" isn't always pretty to the world, but God can use anyone, in any circumstance, to do what He wills. I don't know why He chose me to have spina bifida, and I don't take kindly to many of the contrived "Hallmark card" explanations I've been given over the years; they all fall apart in one way another, until there is one fact that remains true:
God is, and that's sufficient for any trouble we may endure.
INT. A HOSPITAL DELIVERY ROOM - AFTERNOON
It's Easter, 1985. ROB'S MOTHER is in a bed, sweat across her dark hair. She's in labor, though the pain has been dulled for now. A NURSE walks in, looking unhappy.
NURSE
We have a problem.
We have a problem.
Such would be the beginning of the screenplay of my life, though it truly began in time immemorial. God knew there would be a problem. He knew, when He created me, I would be set apart in so many ways. He chose to allow my existence anyway.
The "problem" the nurse referred to is called spina bifida. Essentially, the coating of some nerves along my spinal cord had malformed, creating a balloon for nerves to bundle into. Not so long before 1985, cases as severe as mine were fatal, or left sufferers confined to a wheelchair. Other conditions occur with spina bifida when it's severe, including hydrocephalus.
Also known as "water on the brain," hydrocephalus is a condition in which the natural "drain" a person has for getting rid of excess fluid in their skull doesn't work. The fluid collects around the brain, pushes against the inner walls of the skull, and--in taking the path of least resistance--begins to press in on the soft tissue of the brain.
I will never know exactly how close I came to permanent, debilitating brain damage. Doctors gave my parents a "worst case prognosis" that included my mental capacity capped at that of a three-year old, and my body only slightly more agile than that of a paraplegic. My parents were devastated. My mother endured a seizure, and a painful delivery.
And none of it surprised God.
For two years, my parents accepted God's will, while praying for a miracle. They did what all loving parents do for a child, the best way they knew how. They fed me, clothed me, changed my diapers, and treated the after-effects of numerous surgeries. They worked to pay medical bills, and lived in and out of the hospital. Every visit held a nervous tension, like a piano wire ready to snap.
Christmas of 1987, they bought me a push-around lawn mower toy. It was simple, and it made noise enough to delight any two-year old. What no one expected was for God to give the last gift to my family that year. It was an answer to the prayers my parents had cried since my first prognosis.
I got up and pushed that little lawn mower toy around. I've seen a picture of that moment, and the look on my face then was nothing more than the innocent joy of a child having fun, but it's probably the happiest I've ever been. God knew it was possible. I simply didn't know it was impossible.
I was born on Easter. I did the impossible on Christmas. Some are quick to point out those dates are not an accurate reflection of the events we celebrate on those days, and that's true. It also doesn't matter. What matters is, God worked, in big ways and small, to show Himself. He gave me life on the day we celebrate new life in Christ, and He rescued my family and me from a life of heartache on the day we celebrate the birth of the Savior who rescued us.
A nurse walked in and said, "We have a problem."
God walked in and whispered, "No problem."
I still have spina bifida and hydrocephalus. I do have some mental problems that doctors theorize came from mild brain damage. I've always developed late, and been plagued by issues that have set me behind my peers. In my weakness, God has shown His strength.
There are days I pray for God to heal me, and I believe it's within the realm of possibility. I'm still not entirely used to the quirks of my broken body, and each year brings new surprises...for me, that is. God has never--not once--been surprised.
I am living proof that "fearfully and wonderfully made" isn't always pretty to the world, but God can use anyone, in any circumstance, to do what He wills. I don't know why He chose me to have spina bifida, and I don't take kindly to many of the contrived "Hallmark card" explanations I've been given over the years; they all fall apart in one way another, until there is one fact that remains true:
God is, and that's sufficient for any trouble we may endure.
