“Just a couple of days left,” was my immediate thought as I made my way to the kitchen early this morning.  After a little reading over coffee, I glanced over at Jodi’s computer and Chloe’s care page update was on the screen (see last blog entry.)  This is what her parents had written there:

Once upon a time there lived a beautiful princess named Chloe Mae Robinson. Princess Chloe passed away at her castle on Hospital Hill, Children’s Mercy Hospital, on Saturday, November 11…

In her three years with us, Princess Chloe seldom left the four walls of her hospital room, yet touched so many lives. She enjoyed tea parties with her family, tap dancing to the Temptations, singing silly songs with her family, and blowing bubbles in her milk. One of Chloe’s favorite activities was to color and paint pictures for her guests. Very few left her presence without a gift in hand and in their heart.

We know now, that she is running and playing in a kingdom where all that we dreamed for her is possible. Princess Chloe now lives in her castle on a big hill, tap dances on golden streets, and has tea parties with The King.

It was a morning of brimming eyes, of “tea parties with The King” echoing in my head.  What do you do with that?  What do you do with that four days before your own son is to be admitted? 

Coincidently, Jodi and I listened to a sermon on cd last night given by Dr. Tim Keller.  In his message, Tim referenced the story of Jesus and Jairus’ daughter.  Though everyone says she's dead, Jesus goes into her room, takes the little girl by the hand, and says “Talitha koum.”  Tim said that basically translates, “Honey, it’s time to get up now.”  And she does.

That story gave me hope this morning.  I pray that Jesus has big life in store for Jacob here on earth.  But I know for certain that in His kingdom, “everything sad will come untrue,” all tears will be wiped away, the Healing-King will pick up children in his strong carpenter’s arms and bless them again. 

I couldn’t do this without that assurance.      

I was thinking about all of this when I heard the boys stirring.  As soon as I stepped into the room and said “Good morning fellows!” Justice started sneezing vigorously.  I knew what the doctors would say but I had to call the hospital anyway to hear what I didn’t want to hear, “Separate ‘em.” Of course “separating ‘em” means a man to man coverage on different floors of the apartment.  It makes us tired and sad.  I put in an irresponsible number of videos today just so Jacob would sit still on the couch and I could hold him. 

But in the midst of it all, Jacob had a great day.  There was thanksgiving:  we took him to the hospital last Friday for an infected-looking spot on his head and were bracing for a possible surgery this week to remove it.  This morning it was almost gone and we avoided the hospital altogether. In addition, Justice seemed to shrug off whatever bug was after him, so we hope to be together again tomorrow.

Plus, Jacob continued to bask in the afterglow of Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt B and Uncle Steve, all of whom visited this weekend and showered him with love and gifts.  The boys wore John Deere T-shirts and we hiked, played with new toys, and spotlighted deer.  (Please check out the "Pictures" page for some fantastic weekend shots.)  This evening he jumped up and down by the back window exclaiming, “Look at that beautiful sunset!” over and over and I was grateful once again that he has such a deep appreciation for life’s abundant miracles.

Now he’s asleep in the other room.  The time for transplant is almost here.  One way or the other, Jacob will have a completely new life soon.  My greatest hope is that Jesus will raise him up from the hospital transplant bed strong and healthy, ready for a long fierce life here on earth.  At the same time I'm so grateful for this God who sometimes takes children by the hand and says, “Honey, it’s time to wake up now.”  As C.S. Lewis says, the bad dream will be over.  It will be morning in the Kingdom.

Please keep Chloe's parents in your prayers.