See Part One if you’re just joining in…
They put my sweet husband onto a gurney and into an ambulance to transport him an hour or so away to a bigger hospital.  I drove behind, holding back sobs and crying out to my God.  I’ll never forget the stripes on the back of the vehicle.  The mental imprint will surely last forever.
Arriving about 5:30 a.m. he was quickly admitted into intensive care.  Yeah.  Intensive care.
We remained there for two and a half long days and nights.  I catnapped in the chair next to him and left his side only to use the bathroom and twice to run home for an hour in the middle of the night to hug my kids and to hurriedly shower.  I was there for every single doctor that came in and aware of every blood and platelet transfusion (there were many).  The entire staff was buzzing. They guessed and tested.  They pushed us to do more tests and more invasive tests.  Ugly words like leukemia and cancer were thrown much too easily into our minds.  Acting in sure faith, we refused them all, much to the frustration of some doctors.  We knew that my husband was not diseased.  Something had attacked his system and we waited for them to determine what it was.  In the meantime, they were working to bring his levels back up.  His numbers would climb a little (they started at 3,000) and we would rejoice and praise God with each thousand that they climbed.
I told every doctor that they needed to get him healthy quickly!  I counted down for them each day we had left for them to fix this problem until moving day.
8 days and counting.  My husband hadn’t smiled in weeks now.  His color was waxy and yellow.  I didn’t even recognize his feet or hands.  He was having blood and platelet transfusions one after another until the hospital ran out and had to go to the Red Cross to get more.
In the midst of all of this, God was cleaning up the other messes.  Finances were miraculously being evened out.  Miraculous things were happening with mortgage numbers.  Where there was a deficit, God would bring in a surplus.
We told the soon-to-be owners about the basement and waited for their response.  They signed an addendum accepting the situation.  Things were moving forward.
Title companies, insurance agencies, and realtors were not only picking up our slack but letting us know they were praying for us!
Several days in, one doctor had enough wisdom and humility to tell us that they just didn’t know what to do.  He was concerned that Christian could have bleeding on the brain or internally that literally couldn’t be stopped if it started.  He recommended we move to Detroit (three solid hours away) to Henry Ford Hospital where he believed someone could handle our case.  He also reassured me that if my children needed help, he and his wife would be available for whatever they needed.
Tears leaked.  My children were at home.  I couldn’t care for both them and my husband.  My life was upside down.  But we needed help…

Consider the lilies…

These words were whispered into my spirit…
Throughout all of the house stress, the scarier-than-I-know-how-to-describe-health emergency and all that both entail, I have acquired quite a playlist of songs that play over and over like a beautifully broken record in my mind.
People have sent some to me. Or God finds my available ears and gives me melodies to encourage or to remind me.  They settle my spirit.  
Songs like this one.  Or this one.
Or this one which was the toughest, yet most vital.  In the very moment where I decide whether or not there is even one thing in this world that matters more than my God.  This was going to be His story–whatever the ending.  And I had to come to terms with that.  And decide that even if I hated the answer He gave me, I would worship Him anyway.  
So I kept setting it all down into His hands.  The house.  My family.
My husband.
And verses.  In the moments when I needed them, beautiful verses that I had memorized would float in like the freshest of air and waft into my spirit and remind me of the promises.
And those promises…
Those tickle the edges of my thoughts as well.  If God has told me that something will happen, it will.  He gave us this dream of relocating our family to our promised land.  He brought us to the edge of the water, and told us to get all the way to wet toes.  He would part the water.  No plot of man or calamity of nature or health issue can stop what God has said He will do.
Not floods, not tens of thousands of dollars of deficit, not the absence of blood platelets in a husband.
And one of my favorite reminders has been this.  He whispered it to me in the darkness.  The place where it felt like the edges of my mind were fraying..

Consider the lilies…

I remembered the passage that reminds me that lilies don’t waste lovely spring days worrying about how they’re going to look when they show up.  Not even the richest man could clothe himself as beautifully as the simple lily.  In the middle of the night, when I was leaving home to go back to the hospital, I saw that my Lilies of the Valley had bloomed profusely in my absence.  I picked a few and brought the beauty back to the hospital room.  I brought them to allow some perfection there, some fragrance, something lovely into this icky place.

There they sit all juxtaposed against urinals and antibacterial solutions and other such medical stuff.  
Reminding me–what God does, He does flawlessly.  Without my interference.  No matter if I worried about it or not.  No matter if I thought I had  a better plan.
This is His kind of stuff.  He is writing our story.
He’s got it.
To be continued…(Part Three)