God Took Me to Heaven...

June 2007 …

"Mom, when will I go to heaven?" asked 5 year old Elijah.

"Whenever God decides to take you there."

"You could have gone there already." added his 7 year old brother, Josiah.

"I know. Two times."

As Jim gripped the steering wheel and focused on driving quickly, yet safely, to the hospital, I sat in the back seat next to Elijah’s car seat. My hand rested on his chest, praying for every breath that he took. I knew that every minute was critical, that a seizure could happen at any time, and that the hospital was 30 minutes away.

It was almost 1:00 a.m. on August 15, 2005, when we realized that our 3 year old son’s life was at stake. After battling flu-like symptoms for 24 hours, purple spots appeared on Elijah’s torso. As the parents of 10 children, we had seen many rashes, but nothing like this. For an hour, I tried to reach the doctor on call. No one returned my frantic phone calls. We faced a critical decision: do we put Elijah to bed and take him to the doctor’s office in the morning; or do we drive him to the emergency room tonight? We later learned that our answer to that question made the difference between life or death. Doctors assured us that had we put Elijah to bed that night, he would have died in his sleep. His body was shutting down.

As we unknowingly faced the parenting question of a lifetime, the Lord brought to mind a random conversation with a friend several weeks before. Her son, Derek, had been at church camp with five of our older kids, where Derek had been possibly exposed to Bacterial Meningitis. Heidi had been notified only because Derek had shared a cabin with the boy who was found to be a carrier of the disease. We had not received the Health Department notification.

Jim cradled our sick little boy in his arms, while I hurried to my computer. When I googled Bacterial Meningitis, the answer was clear. Symptoms: flu-like symptoms followed by a purple rash. Possible Outcome: seizures, brain damage, death. We had our answer. I told Jim that we needed to head to the E.R. immediately. I did not, however, tell Jim all of the possible outcomes. We had a 30 minute drive to the hospital, and I knew that I needed Jim to drive safely, while I prayed. (We later learned that we should have called an ambulance. A friend’s nephew died of bacterial meningitis, in his car seat, on his way to the hospital.)

Within 5 minutes of arriving at our local hospital, the doctors had antibiotics coursing through Elijah’s veins, as they informed us that they would be airlifting him immediately to Children’s Hospital in Seattle, 100 miles away. No one would be allowed to ride along on the flight. I instructed Jim to get in the car and to start driving south; I would stay with Elijah while he awaited the arrival of the helicopter. Jim didn’t want to leave. But, I assured him that it would be much better for him to go alone, than for us to drive together later, knowing that Elijah was all alone 100 miles away (since the helicopter flight would take about 30 minutes, while we had an almost 2 hour drive ahead of us). With tears in his eyes, Jim gave Elijah a kiss and slowly walked to the car, for the most difficult drive of his life.

Our daughter, Cassie, raced to the hospital to be with me, and to bring me home once Elijah was on his way to Children’s; while our son, Jeremiah, stayed home with all of the younger children. Cassie and I got home about 3:45 a.m.; I packed a small overnight bag of clothes and toiletries; and I headed south at 4:30 a.m. Elijah was in Pediatric I.C.U., in serious condition, but his Papa was with him; he was not alone. As I drove, I cried, I sang worship songs, I prayed, and I picked up my cell phone. I knew that the word needed to get out; Elijah needed prayer. Our friends wouldn’t mind being woken up; they would want to pray.

By the time I arrived, at 6:30 a.m., the rash and bruising had increased dramatically. Elijah looked so much worse. I could hardly believe how quickly this disease had attacked. The day was a blur. So many doctors and nurses were working on Elijah, but no one could tell us what to expect. We were numb. We sat; we cried; we called friends; and we prayed and prayed. We knew that Elijah’s life lay in the Lord’s hands and we cried out for God’s mercy to save our precious little boy.

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At 6:00 p.m., it was determined that Elijah needed to be put into a drug-induced coma, with morphine sedation and a ventilator to breathe. Elijah’s blood pressure was dropping and his kidneys were shutting down. His skin was stretched and his body swollen from the beginning stages of kidney failure. We began to realize that Elijah might not live through the night. We knew that his brothers and sisters needed to join us in Seattle.

Within an hour, many details were in motion. Pastor Ryan had agreed to drive our big van, filled with children, to Seattle. Hospital social workers had arranged lodging at the Ronald McDonald House. And, the Red Cross was in the process of contacting Elijah’s oldest brother, Gregg, in Iraq. Would he get home in time? With a son deployed to a war zone, I had often processed the possibility of losing a son … but this was not the way that I could have ever imagined it.

Several friends made the trip to the hospital that evening, to cry with us, to pray with us, and to hold us in their arms. Pastor Ryan arrived with the children, which brought more tears, more prayers, and more hugs. A few hours later, the room slowly emptied. Our friends went home. Pastor Ryan drove my car home. Jim and the children went to the Ronald McDonald House to try to get some sleep. I was alone for the first time, on a padded bench, in a hospital room with my dying child. The questions were unending: How could our lives have changed so dramatically in just 24 hours? What would tomorrow bring? Would Elijah live? If he did live, would he suffer from brain damage? Would his arms and/or legs be amputated (one leg was already showing signs of severe lack of circulation)?

Even though I was exhausted, I couldn’t sleep. From 3:00-5:00 a.m., I sat in the corner of my bench, wrapped in blankets, and cried out to God. I cried. I wept. I sobbed. I could not bear the thought of losing Elijah.

For six days, Elijah lay motionless, his feisty spirit lost in the depths of the coma. We didn’t know if it would ever emerge. We didn’t know if we would ever again see his toothless smile (at age 2 he had broken and lost 2 teeth), or hear his contagious laughter. We didn’t know anything. The doctors had no answers.

We battled a rollercoaster of emotions, as Elijah’s little body battled this deadly disease. Fear gripped our hearts, when his fevers spiked … when his blood pressure rose too high, or dropped too low … when his kidneys completely failed and he was put on dialysis … when his left arm went cold for 36 hours … when over 100 third degree burns covered his body (caused by the bacteria, burning the body from the inside out).

At the same time, our lives were not ruled by this fear. We were overwhelmed by the love of friends that drove the 200 miles round trip to be with us. Different friends and church staff came every day for the first week. Having no involved extended family, our church family stepped in with the most amazing support. Friends took our children out to eat. Friends stayed with Elijah so that Jim and I could get a few minutes away. Friends took our kids to the zoo, and to a Seattle Mariners game. Friends showed us love like we have never seen it before.

While some friends were making the drive to Seattle, others were working behind the scenes for Elijah. On Monday, a spontaneous prayer meeting took place at our church from 7:00 p.m. until after 10:30 p.m. On Tuesday, another prayer meeting took place during the lunch hour. So many people arrived to pray, that the meeting had to be moved from the Prayer Center to the Worship Center. On Wednesday, a friend called and said, "This whole town is praying. The whole community is lifting Elijah up. This crosses church lines; it crosses denominational lines … the community is noticing how your church responds to crisis." Another friend called to say, "I’ve been to at least 5 places across town today, where people have brought up the need to pray for Elijah." Within 24 hours, we knew of prayer taking place for Elijah in at least 8 states and 4 foreign countries.

Late one night, as Elijah lay in bed surrounded by machines, tubes, and wires, the Lord led me to Psalm 66. I read it several times, and believed that it was a gift of hope given directly to me. "Shout with joy to God … Say to God, ‘How awesome are your deeds!’ So great is your power …. Come and see what God has done …" The next morning, I shared this verse with family and friends, believing that we would, indeed, be able to say, "See what God has done."

After the most difficult week of our lives, we received 2 miracles on Saturday: Elijah was taken off of his ventilator and his feisty spirit was finally released from the coma, and Gregg arrived home from Iraq. When Gregg arrived at the hospital and gave his little buddy a big hug, we saw the first smile we had seen in a week. We knew our little guy was coming back. By the next day, Elijah told me, "Mama, I want to go home." "Yes, Elijah, I want to go home, too."

While the battle wasn’t yet won, we knew that God had done a mighty work for the life of our precious son. Elijah spent another week in ICU, and then was sent downstairs for non-critical care. As we said good-bye to his primary ICU doctor, the doctor looked me right in the eye and said, "I don’t know if you realize how unusual it is for Elijah to be released from ICU this quickly, in this condition." Four days later, this same doctor stopped by our room to see how Elijah was doing, and I was thrilled to tell him, "We’re going home tomorrow." We were in awe of the mighty work of the Lord.

Three months later, while driving through Seattle, I asked Elijah if he remembered his time at the hospital. He responded, "Yes." I asked him what he remembered about it. He sighed and quietly responded, "I was at the hospital with Jesus." I so wanted to ask him questions, but I knew how easily adults can attempt to "help" children create "God stories". I also knew that if there was a story to tell, it would come out in God’s timing.

Two years after his miracle, Elijah decided it was time to begin to tell his story. After telling Josiah that he could have gone to heaven two times, I asked,

"Two times?"

"Yes. God took me to heaven two times, but then he let me come home."

"Really? Did you talk to God when you were at the hospital?"

"Yes. Twice."

"Did you see God when you were at the hospital?"

Growing exasperated, Elijah responded, "Yes! Two times!"

"What did He look like?"

"He was bright white all over."

"White?"

"Yes. He was white … "

Elijah suddenly asked if he could watch a movie. He was done with his story … for now. We will wait patiently to see if he chooses to share more details later. ~