Routine Desperation.

When our middle son Trent was 6 years old, we lived in Watkinsville, Ga right outside of Athens. For several days, Trent had been telling us that one of his lower legs was really hurting. There hadn't been any kind of accident or collision that we were aware of in our world of three sons, so we kept moving. Several days later, Trent was still speaking of the ache that he was feeling in his leg. I told him about remembering an achy type of feeling when my bones were growing as a younger boy his age, how it actually at times feels quite painful. His aching persisted. We wound up taking him to the hospital one night in a place of really intense pain. He was admitted and a series of tests began for several days to try to determine what was happening in Trent's leg. Nothing. Our pediatrician and a bone specialist were commiserating and could not find any obvious reason why Trent was feeling this pain in his leg. While at the hospital, the leg started to swell and look red and angry. What is this? Our doctor asked for an MRI to try to see more clearly what was happening.

I remember this moment so clearly. Six year old Trent was being slid into the MRI tube and told that he needed to lay really still. I was standing near the machine weeping. The days of wondering had started to pile up in not knowing what was happening in Trent's body. I remember some desperate weeping and talking to God as I looked at Trent laying in the MRI tube. My son. We had been plucked out of the routine of normal, daily living into a place of desperation that was both scary and focusing.

The bone doctor shared that the swelling could possibly be there because of the presence of staph infection and that, with no further ideas, needing to open his leg to drain what was building up inside seemed necessary. So sad for Trent. Concerned not to know what was wrong with him. Moments of feeling that feeling in your soul that feels way, way out of control and you know that you cannot do anything to change it. Desperate.

The day that his leg would be opened for draining, our pediatrician Dr. Floyd came into the room. He was heavy hearted. A Christ follower. He shared that he had wrestled through the night asking God for any wisdom that he had been missing. He looked at Lea and I and asked us, "Have you seen any tics on Trent in the last little bit?" Blood rush to my head. It poured over me as I blurted out "yes" as Lea and I both simultaneously remembered the night that we plucked a tic off of Trent's body. There was an immediate urgency in Dr. Floyd. He ordered a test for Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. It was positive. He immediately began a specific treatment that Trent instantly responded to. The swelling decreased deliberately. No draining needed. Thank you God. Thank you that Dr. Floyd kept talking to you and kept asking for wisdom.

Even today, I can remember what those desperate moments felt like. And this is why I am thinking about that. When I consider the idea of being revived by God, I see these two opposite poles. I can see the often perceived to be overly dramatic place of desperation where there is such an urgency for the movement of God that you sense there is literally no other hope. The opposite pole is being so engrained in the routine of living my life in a way that there is really no sense of need or dependance on God in any way. I am so used to living my life in charge of my own periodic, if not daily perceived reviving, one doughnut, Netflix season, or high at a time. Just trying to keep it real.

It seems to either be one or the other. Me in charge of the routine of my reviving or there being some place of desperation thrust on me or sought out by me that takes me to a different kind of daily living.

My curiosity today is.....

Can there be a routine desperation? Can we live more regularly in a place of holy curiosity and desperation for the reviving that only comes from the Trinity than just normal, dulled living that ends up sneaking by us and robbing us of desperate fruit?

Routine desperation.

There's more.