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Last night my husband and I came face to face with the inevitable…a sick child who needed to go to the ER. It was compounded by the pain being abdominal (Emmy’s illness was malrotation of the intestine) and the fact that this child does not speak very well, so we were working off what very little he could communicate to us.

As I watched my son cry in pain, I knew I couldn’t just wait it out. My intincts have always been to watch and see, but I couldn’t this time.

Ty took him to urgent care around 10:30 pm and I stayed home with the other children since I have a nursing baby who still gets up several times a night. Ty gave me a play by play from the moment he pulled into the ER’s parking lot. I got to talk to Keian several times throughout the next 5 hours (yes, 5 HOURS), but it still broke my heart that I could not be there with him.

They checked for appendicits and UTI, but found neither. Blood tests and CT scan came back fine as well. There was some red blood cell spillage in his urine, but that can sometimes be perfectly normal. Diagnosis…unknown.

By the time they released him, he was feeling pretty good. He was still a bit pale this morning at his follow-up, but as the day wore on he looked better and better.

And I am okay with that. I don’t feel stupid that we took him in. And I’m oh so thankful they found nothing (which frankly, doesn’t mean there was nothing…it could mean the prayers of others were heard!)

At one point during the night, Ty called me and said, “There is a song playing over the loudspeaker here…it is ‘I Can Only Imagine.'” This song was played during the slideshow at Emmy’s funeral. We both lost it and Ty had to explain to the ER physician why he was so upset. The doctor showed nothing but compassion. He even offered to keep Keian overnight for our peace of mind. Our primary care doctor also expressed compassion when she said she absolutely understood why we took him in considering “all we had been through.”

I saw something in myself last night that I had not seen in such a raw way in quite a while.

It was fear.

Losing a child does not come with a guarantee that you will never, ever lose again. It does not mean you have “done your time.” It was this fear that terrified me last night. What if???

I had to keep reminding myself that fear is not of the Lord. I asked for prayer for K’s healing and comfort for my fearful spirit. Those of you who prayed, thank you! I did begin to rest easy and Keian got better and better! Your prayers were heard!

I wonder if I will always struggle with this fear? It always seems to be just below the surface until there is a crisis point and it comes bubbling out in a panic. It may be that I will never be rid of these feelings, but as a dear friend said to me at Emily’s funeral,

“No matter what you feel, His Word is still true.”

So, with that in mind, here is a passage of Scripture that has become one of my favorites that speaks to my fears:

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by your name;
You are Mine.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
And through the rivers,
they shall not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire,
you shall not be burned,
Nor shall the flame scorch you.”
Isaiah 43:1,2

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17 Comments on Fear

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17 thoughts on “Fear

  1. (((Amy))) I haven’t had to walk the same path, but my Mother’s Heart cries out with you. I just read about the 7month6day milestone you’ve passed, and then this very scarey event. Your strength and courage, willingness to lean on the Lord inspire me. Thank you for sharing.

  2. Well, as you read in my book – I can relate to that fear. It is real. You won’t be this fearful forever, but do always call it what it is and turn to our precious Lord because that’s the only way it’s going to leave you.

    I’m so glad you emailed me and I could pray for Keian that night and I’m so glad that God healed his little body.

    I think maybe God was revealing that open wound so you could guard against it more and take it to Him. You know, kind of like the first step to healing is acknowledging the hurt?

    That’s what happened to us when, 7 months after Anna died, our doctor called me and said that it looked like Silas had leukemia. I was terrified, bitter, mad, scared to death… and I wasn’t alone. Kyle and Jared reacted in ways that surprised them too. Praise God it wasn’t leukemia, but I’m thankful that God showed me it was there so we could continue to give it all to him.

    Well, I went on too long, but it was just all so familiar and I thought it would encourage you to know that you’re not alone.


  3. Amy, your writing always gives me chills and brings tears to my eyes. Praise the Lord he is going to be alright!


  4. So glad that things turned out alright. I know those feelings of fear, and I can sympathize. But “God is God”, as I always say, and He is greater than all our fears. Amen?

    Linda @ Truthful Tidbits

  5. I have been so blessed by your blog in so many different ways. I gain so much perspective when I read a post like this one and so uplifted by many of your other posts and am so blessed by your practical wisdom of yet many of your other posts. I am priveleged to be able to follow you in blogland and pray, mourn, laugh, and glean advice from you. I am so sorry for your loss and thank you so much for turning it into a blessing for others and glorifying our Lord, Jesus Christ.

  6. So pleased he was ok.

    I know that fear…and the self-righteous anger which comes with it in my case – I’ve lost one child; I should therefore be innoculated against losing another. Somehow, that should be me paying my dues, I should have a free pass to good health with the others, right? Only of course, it doesn’t work like that. And losing one child just opens our minds to the reality that sometimes chidlren do die. I’m just thankful that we do have a God who does know everything which is going on, and who has a grat plan which includes us and our children, and that this death is not a permanent separation for us.


  7. Sorry you had this happen and thanksful that Keian was OK.

    Well done for recognizing the fear for what it was and where it comes from. You are an inspiration!

    Having had multiple miscarriages, I too often feel like I should have ‘paid my dues’ as it were and battle fear when my boys get ill. (((HUGS)))

  8. Oh golly Amy, so sorry to hear about your scare! I am so glad things turned out to be ok… keep us updated! praying for you dear friend!


  9. I feel that fear all too often. Not because I have been through what you have, but because there are parents like you who have. Lovely, God-loving people who have endured unimaginable pain. The fear is a desperate pleading with God, and yet I know I am to trust Him….no matter what.

  10. This speaks truth to those of us who have not lost a child. I have felt that same bubbling fear when I look at our lives lately and wonder if my husband is slipping into another depression. Thank you for your comfort.

  11. so beautifully written. i am sobbing. no…. it never goes away, the situational panic. i am purely convinced that some of the bravest women i know, hold their families with unclenched fists, held toward Heaven, and that One Day, while TRUST AND TERROR can–indeed– go hand in hand. I believe, for some, who have been well-schooled in the darkest places of pain this side of Heaven, that trust AND terror together are exactly the place where Faith really BEGINS. Because it all becomes a choice to trust. To let our children belong to Him, before they were ever ours. We steward and love them here….and THEN, there WILL BE that One Day, when we won’t just “see” them again— we will *LIVE WITH THEM*, FEAST WITH THEM, HUG ON THEM, LOVE THEM, AND BE WITH THEM FOREVER!!!!! May God richly bless you for sharing your pain and encouraging others that grieve.
    Until that One Day —


  12. My son Charlie died August 10th 2010….I am pregnant with my 4th (I only have one to show for it) I have been really scared. Glad I stumbled upon your blog. Fear is my everyday, my every moment. I too relate to something you said in another post about never being the same. Sometimes I feel like I lost my identity when Charlie died. I have silently and slowly been fading into fear and hopelessness for two years, and I fear that I will never come back. As I read through posts on your blog I felt as if I was reading my own words. Your post on marriage was very meaningful as well. Thank you for your words. They came to me after a few long lonely days in a row.

  13. Thank you so much for sharing your story. I came here from a children and chores Pinterest post and found a kindred spirit. While I know my loss isn’t the same (I had a late term miscarriage and only got to hold my little boy after he was already gone) I struggle so much with fear right now. I had two children previously and have now had another daughter who is 11 weeks. I thought my fear would leave. Now I’m just afraid of other things. Like you said, I know that having lost does not protect me from losing more. In fact the opposite, now that loss has touched me, I realize how close at hand it is. And yet I don’t want to live in fear, I want to put my trust in the wonderful, loving God that brought me through the darkest time in my life and showed me new and wonderful mercies each day. I very much appreciate the Scripture you shared here.

    God bless.

  14. Those are the same verses I would sing and recite to myself when we nearly lost my newborn son. He had a rare lung defect and had a lobectomy to remove half of his lung to safe his life. I struggled with so much fear after that, and the worst was about 5 months later, when we were back at the same ER with our daughter, who had a febrile seizure. My pastor ended up joining us–that’s how fearful we were. It wasn’t her diagnosis, but the anxiety we still felt after the trauma we had been through. Fear has been a battle ever since, and most of the time, God is giving me victory. But now, years later, I still practice taking thoughts captive so that I can live free of high anxiety and fear.