I’m scared.

Can I say that?

I’m hurting.

I need to say that.

I’m willing to bet you are too.

For different reasons perhaps but either way, hurt hurts.

A friend of mine, Bob Hostetler, recently delivered a life changing key note speech that flung open any doors my heart secretly tried to keep hidden.

“Write bruised.”

“Write broken.”

“Write naked.”

I am all of those today. In truth, I am all of those, all of the time. At least, I want to be.

Before God. Before others.

I spent thirty-two years pretending I wasn’t. I can’t do that anymore. I won’t.

Yesterday I watched my son hurt in ways I can’t take away.

There are no magic words. No magic touch.


We received good news from the cardiologist. His echo cardiogram looked great. The abnormalities on the EKG were thoroughly checked and they are normal. He does need to wear a heart monitor for two weeks to address his palpitations but this is a precautionary step the cardiologist wants him to take so we can say without a doubt, that none of this is due to his heart.

Thank you Abba, thank you.


When the cardiologist left the room my son burst into tears.

“I’m still hurting,” he said.

At this point, going to any doctor seems counterproductive. His mind can’t process this the way ours can. He knows why we’re there and yet secretly hopes with each doctor that examines him, that they can make it all go away.

He turned toward the wall so I rubbed his back. He pulled away from my touch. He’s never done that. When he did, the sword that’s been lodged in my heart since April 21, twisted even further.

I’m right here honey, let me hold you.

He was hurting too bad in that moment. Too confused.

I sat down silently asking God to do what I couldn’t.


We went straight from there to see the pain management doctor. After what happened at the cardiologist I hesitated to even go. I knew this wasn’t going to be what he wanted it to be.

If one thing was said that would help him to deal with this or help Frank & I to help him, the pros tipped the scale.


Elijah turns eleven tomorrow. The biggest Lego set in the world can’t replace the wish that he could simply not hurt.

We’re working on the big Lego part, but the other part I’m leaving to God.

With an enduring faith. Not a fickle one, moved by the waves as they crash.

No, one that sits by the ocean, aware of it’s massive power.

Feeling its breeze.

Hearing its voice.

Assured that it is kept in its place by God.

Galatians 6:9 And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.

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After a long week of doctor’s appointments for my son, Elijah, I finally sit to share my heart with you. So many of you have prayed and asked about him. I sincerely thank you.

Your messages, emails and phone calls are like a kiss from heaven to me during this time. If you aren’t aware of my son’s recent battle, you can read the following posts. PROVISION & PRAISE, WHEN THINGS DON’T GET BETTER, A DIAGNOSIS, and IN BATTLE

Monday afternoon we finally met with the EOE specialist to discover that the way EOE is diagnosed has changed. It is now a two-step process.

Step one is confirmed.

Step two involves another endoscopy with multiple biopsies in six weeks.

He has been on a new medication for two weeks, but must be on it for a total of eight weeks. He must have another biopsy that shows eosinophils present or absent. Then, his diagnosis can be confirmed or denied.

In short – still no answers. Still no relief.

He sent us back to his GI doctor to address his pain during the next six weeks or indefinitely if it is not EOE.

Later that afternoon we saw his pediatrician. I tried making him laugh by matching his frown. I’m happy to report it did garner a small one.

“Mom, my heart doesn’t feel right.” Elijah told me on Wednesday. He occasionally says it feels like it skips a beat but so did mine as a child.

This was different though so I made a mental note to add it to the list of things I need to discuss with the GI doctor.

Thursday morning Elijah woke and said the same thing. Less then five minutes later he was hobbling to the sofa, grabbing at his chest saying, “It hurts to breathe, it feels so heavy.” He was weak and could barely raise his arms.

It didn’t last long but I called his doctor’s office right away. In less than ten minutes we were sitting in the office.

His EKG was abnormal and cardiology was called.

The GI doctor saw him today and performed another EKG. Still abnormal.

Or so it appears. But I saw his heart today and it was beautiful.

“Ma’am, here you go. I have a card for your son. I hope he feels better soon.”

The boys and I regularly make up a bunch of get well cards for kids and every time we go to the children’s hospital, we find hurting little ones or their families and give them one. Today, as we were leaving the hospital, Elijah spotted a hurting child.

That’s my sons heart!


Tuesday June 13th he is scheduled to see a cardiologist, to be followed by an appointment with a pediatric pain management doctor.

Pediatric pain management doctor.

My heart broke at the realization that such a title exists. And yet, I’m so thankful it does.

Aren’t you thankful we also have our very own pain management physician? I’ve been frequenting his office a lot lately.

His name? Jesus.

He’s the most personal doctor I know.

His bedside manner is out of this world.

He lets me curl up in his lap.

He holds me when I need to be held.

He wipes my tears and keeps them.

And one of the best things – he is available the second you call.

Thank you for visiting him on my son’s behalf. On our families behalf. I feel your prayers fellow servants.

Scripture says to pray for others that you may be healed. As Elijah poured out toward the sick child he saw today, even in the midst of his pain, may we also pray for you?

Feel free to comment below or you may email me through the contact form. Elijah and I would like to pray for your need. We can’t wait to hear from you.

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