House on the Rock

It was Tuesday, August 8th. School started in two days. It had been a busy couple of days full of meetings, professional development, and training the five new team members on my freshman English team. I ended up sneaking back to school late in the evening, removed from all the interruptions and copy room traffic. I sat in my classroom in the dark, racing scissors across college-themed pennants for this year’s bulletin board. Bright-eyed freshmen on campus tours peered through my window while I tried to remain unseen, tried to ignore the text from my dad saying they were taking Mom to the hospital.

She had been battling a cough that wouldn’t go away despite various antibiotics. Perhaps it was leftovers from an undiagnosed COVID case, or perhaps that smog-laden air from Canadian wildfires had infected her lungs at last. Regardless, she was healthy. Not just healthy, but in the best shape of her life. She had been entirely sugar-free for a year, walked four miles almost every day, and maintained a strict diet of mostly fruits, vegetables, and lean meat. I convinced myself that we had nothing to fear.

As the night went on, my bulletin board was set, but the news about Mom seemed to escalate. This seemingly harmless hospital visit was turning into ambulance transport. They were rushing her – lights and sirens – to the ICU at an Indianapolis hospital. Dad followed close behind with my sister. My brother and his soon-to-be wife, Riley, hopped in the car and headed south. 

Despite deciding not to go to Greenwood, my uneasiness grew throughout the night. By 3:20 in the morning, I had given up on trying to sleep. I rolled over and checked my phone, only to hear of no updates. I’m sure things are fine, I thought. She’s the healthiest she’s ever been. But at the same time, I couldn’t shake the fact that they transported her. Lights and sirens. The intensive care unit. They didn’t do those things for healthy people. 

With no new news to discover, I clicked on the Bible app. The verse of the day was Philippians 4:8: Finally brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable—if there is any moral excellence and if there is anything praiseworthy—dwell on these things. Okay. I could dwell on truth: God was in control. Mom was acting like herself. She was in the best shape of her life. Everything was going to be fine.

Only two minutes later, Dad texted our family group chat. They were hurrying her into surgery to drain fluid from around her heart and lungs. “Can I call you?” I replied. We talked for the next forty minutes, sometimes praying, sometimes saying nothing at all. Finally, on the other end, I could hear a nurse in the waiting room step out to say, “We’re all done!” Dad reported that Mom was sitting up and smiling. 

I sighed with relief, but only momentarily. I certainly wasn’t relieved enough to fall asleep. Fluid around her heart and lungs did not sound like the mark of a healthy person. I stayed up for the remainder of the night writing, praying, singing, crying, and playing word puzzles with Nana (my mom’s mom), who was also, of course, awake. 

School started just two days later. I rambled through the syllabus and cringey get-to-know-you games, silently reminding myself of Philippians 4:8. Whatever is true. Whatever is true. I couldn’t let myself think about the “what ifs.” I couldn’t grow anxious about the tests and scans being run on my beautiful mother in an Indianapolis ICU over an hour away. I had to focus on what was true.

And here were the truths: we served a good God. I had a healthy mom. God knew our future. He hemmed us in behind and before. Our family was closer than close. We could do this.  

After school, my younger siblings and I embarked to Greenwood to meet up with our parents at last. Joe was coaching tennis, so he was unable to join, but we didn’t want to miss a second with her. Our visit was abundantly joyful. We prayed together, heard funny stories of nutty nurses, and enjoyed mooching off Mom’s sweet treats that she wouldn’t eat. She felt well, looked strong, and had most of the fluid off her lungs. Other than a cough, we assumed she would be cleared to go within the next couple of days.

In fact, we were so optimistic that when school was released on Friday, I called and said I probably wouldn’t come down to visit that day. I figured she’d be home by the weekend — I’d come and see her then. “I’ll be around tomorrow!” I chirped while walking to the park. I was planning to bask in the sun during Joe’s practice. I’d order a pizza and we’d enjoy a much-needed night of rest. 

Everything was going to be fine.