It was late that Sunday afternoon, when we received the news from Dr. Null - Christopher's doctor agreed to release Christopher and let him go to Wilford Hall. In addition, Wilford Hall had agreed to accept Christopher as a patient despite him not being a military dependent.
I couldn't believe it was all happening. It was truly as if a sea of water had parted before me. I still wasn't sure how we were going to pay for the hospital bills but after seeing all of this, money was the least of my concerns. Woody and I recalled Christopher's doctor’s statements in addition to all of the other circumstances. We all knew we were truly witnessing a work of God. Dr. Null might be a persuasive communicator, but we knew it had to be God that changed my stubbornness and Christopher's doctor's heart. And even Liz, who suggested we ask Dr. Null to visit in the first place, couldn't believe the "impossible" was happening. She had already been naming other private doctors that she knew in the neonatal practice whom we might consider changing to if our insurance would permit. God had allowed her to be in the room when Christopher's doctor made his "under no circumstances will I release him" statement and she too was experiencing the same amazement at this event.
Except to receive a sizeable bill from his practice, we would never see or hear from Christopher's doctor again. But despite his beside manner and his apparent absence from the neonatal unit, I feel as if God would have given us the strength to keep Christopher under his care had it been His direction. I think too often we run from bad situations believing that changing the situation is going to make things better. It is important to note that we had no assurances upon leaving Santa Rosa and Christopher's doctor. Christopher might have died in transit or shortly after arriving at Wilford Hall. The only promise we had was that it was God's will. Our feeble faith, which was confirmed by the many accounts in the Bible, provided us with the assurance that by being in God's will, we would be under the shadow of a Presence far greater than that of Christopher's doctor or any other person. We would be in the Presence of the Almighty. Those who have discovered this place know that when you are there, there is no place better in the entire world.
It is this same lesson that God has taught His children over the ages. Corrie Ten Boom's The Hiding Place was certainly about a small room in her house in Haarlem, Holland which was used to hide Jews from the Nazi Germans. But she found out that the true “hiding place” was in the center of God's will. This hiding place could be carried into the prisons of Holland and even into the concentration camps of Germany. It is this same knowledge of His Presence that permitted the Apostle Paul to write, "I have learned to be content in all situations". And he wrote this while writing a letter to the Philippians from a prison. To know you are in God's will ushers forth the greatest peace. God had allowed me to study and teach it for four months to a class of collegians, but now I was living it. This experience had become the living evidence of my classroom lessons.
Later that day I was signing papers to release Christopher from Santa Rosa Hospital and arranging for an ambulance to transport Christopher to Wilford Hall. At Wilford Hall they were preparing an area for Christopher.
Even though Woody had only been able to see Christopher the one time following the delivery, she was already feeling apprehension of having Christopher in a different hospital than herself. "What happens if he needs me, and I'm not there?" she asked. It was at this time she asked me for a promise that I knew I couldn't deliver. "Rick," she began, "I believe with all my heart that Christopher will be healed. But in the event that he should die, I want to be there. Promise me that I will be there when he dies." I was at a loss for words. There was no way I could make that promise and I told her so. As we sat on her bed, we prayed for Christopher and set our hopes on his healing. However, I remembered her request and silently hoped that that day would never come.
In the early evening, two women entered the NICU dressed in medical garb. They washed up and headed for Christopher's bed. After a brief introduction they finalized preparations on an isolette that would be used to transport Christopher. The isolette was a bed surrounded by clear hard plastic with two holes on one side for reaching inside. I was trying to figure out how they were going to transport the ventilator since it required electricity and oxygen hookups. But to my surprise, they disconnected Christopher from the ventilator and attached the tube coming from his mouth to a small rubbery bag that was connected to an oxygen tank. One technician from the transport team began squeezing the bag at a rate she determined was equivalent to the breathing pattern of the ventilator. As she was doing that, the other technician along with Christopher's nurses removed all of the monitors, picked up Christopher, and placed him into the isolette. Once closed, the technician reached through one of the holes on the isolette and continued "bagging" Christopher as the other technician began pushing him towards the exit. I quickly thanked the NICU nurses, ran down to Woody's room to tell her they were transporting Christopher, and then left to follow them over to Wilford Hall.
The sky was black as I reached my car to begin driving to Wilford Hall. I said a quick prayer, thanking the Lord for His faithfulness, and began driving. As I drove along the highway, I could see the lights from Wilford Hall in the distance. It had been a long time since I last had been to that hospital. I was in high school then and had severely damaged my knee in a sports accident. Being an Air Force dependent, this was the hospital that was used for the medical needs of active duty servicemen and their families. But all of this had happened over ten years prior to this visit and the hospital was so much bigger as it grew on the horizon.
Wilford Hall is located on Lackland Air Force Base and is the base that the Air Force uses for training their military recruits. The familiar Air Force guard station loomed in front of me as I turned up the road leading to the hospital. "May I see your military identification," the guard asked. "I'm here to see my son who just passed by in the ambulance," I replied pointing to the ambulance that I could see parked at the main entrance to the hospital. "OK. Go on!" he replied as he directed me through the gate. As I drove closer to the entrance, I could see the technicians wheeling Christopher toward the main doors. I turned back toward the massive parking area, found a parking space, and then ran up to the hospital to follow them. By the time I had arrived, they were gone into a maze of hallways and elevators.
Receiving directions from the information booth, I made my way up to the second floor, through a hallway that contained windows for viewing the newborn babies, and was abruptly halted by a set of double doors that stated, "RESTRICTED AREA No unauthorized personnel beyond this point". Peering through the window, I could see a nurse’s station, along with my parents and sister. I gingerly cracked the door open and poked my head inside and called for my parents. When they saw me, they waved me on through.
Inside was a wave of activity. Dr. Null was standing by the nurse’s station talking to my parents. When he saw me coming, he greeted me and told me that Christopher had done fine during the transfer. Meanwhile, the technicians who had transported Christopher were on their way out of the NICU. They came by and wished us well and headed back out into the main hallway pushing their now empty isolette.
The layout of the nursery at Wilford Hall was much different than the one at Santa Rosa. Just inside the double doors was a room containing the nurses station. The NICU, intermediate care nursery, and the wellborn area were divided into separate rooms with doorways that led into this room. A wall containing windows divided the nurses station and the NICU. Inside were two aisles containing the same type of bed Christopher had at Santa Rosa. The first aisle had a row of beds backed up against a mid-room divider so that they faced the window to the nurse’s station. The second aisle contained beds on either side of the aisle. A corridor in the middle of the room divided the aisles into two halves.
They had placed Christopher up against the back wall of the nursery. Inside I could see David working along with several nurses and technicians. Dr. Null asked me to wait outside until they finished getting Christopher set up.
Up until this time, I had no idea what David did as a resident doctor. I knew he spent a lot of time at the hospital, but it was hard for me to comprehend his responsibilities. It wasn't until this time that I understood that he was primarily responsible for all of the babies care in the NICU and the intermediate care nursery, including Christopher. David came out of the NICU to tell us that Christopher was doing fine. As we had been told earlier, they had attached Christopher to the high frequency ventilator and David informed me that his oxygen requirements had already come down. Knowing I wanted to go in, he led me over to a sink and showed me the NICU gowns.
The NICU at Wilford Hall was even busier than at Santa Rosa. Unlike Santa Rosa, almost every bed was full. The bed next to Christopher's contained a full term, little girl who looked three times the size of Christopher. He was so small. In between the girl's and Christopher's bed stood a rectangular steel box perched on top of a shiny pole. At the base, five spider-like legs with wheels jutted out much like an office chair. On one side of the box, a stiff, rigid, clear plastic tube extended out toward Christopher and attached to a tube coming from Christopher's mouth. This was the high frequency ventilator, or "the magic, silver box" as it was nicknamed because of the numerous babies it had helped to get well.
I thought I finally understood God's will. God had permitted us to go through Santa Rosa in order to teach us to trust in Him so He could show Himself strong even when all things seemed stacked against us. The exodus was truly miraculous and I was beginning to be enveloped by the euphoria of standing on the other side. Now I felt confident that we were going to make a short stay and head home with a healthy baby. Already both his oxygen and pressure requirements were coming down and I was anxious to pass on the good news back to Woody. I thanked Dr. Null, David, and all of the staff, gave good-bye kisses and hugs to my sister and parents, and headed back to Santa Rosa. Woody was thrilled to hear the good news and following a "thank you" prayer we both headed off to a good night's sleep.
I spent the next day at both Santa Rosa and Wilford Hall spending time with Christopher and Woody. Both were doing much better and we were hoping that Woody would be able to leave the next day. My parents invited me to come over for dinner, and with Woody's permission, I took them up on their offer. The dinner conversation focused mostly on Christopher's miraculous recovery, and especially the high frequency ventilator. I was thankful for the ventilator, but I quietly thanked God as I desired not to take any glory away from His miracle.
Following dinner, I rode with my sister out to Wilford Hall to visit Christopher. She commonly picked up David after long shifts fearing he would fall asleep driving home. After a short visit, we headed back towards my parent's home. Christopher's pressure and oxygen requirements had come down considerably that day and David and Liz continued the conversation at how amazing the ventilator worked. Midway home, my sister asked me, "Aren't you glad that Christopher is at Wilford Hall so he can be on the high frequency ventilator?" I was just about to say "yes" when the words of the hymn "The Solid Rock" filled my mouth, "My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus blood and righteousness." To this day I am still amazed at my Spirit breathed response. I didn't desire to be rude or ungrateful for all that both of them had done. Nor did I want to doubt about Christopher's recovery. Nor did I doubt that the high frequency ventilator had helped Christopher to get better. But something deep within me told me to keep my faith on God and God alone. The hymn goes on to say, "I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus' name. On Christ the Solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand, all other ground is sinking sand."
I was unaware of the long struggle that we faced ahead, but the truth in the words of that hymn stayed with me. Through Christopher's stay, I would find that at times the doctors, nurses, pastors, members of my family, friends, and technology would disappoint, but I always found God to remain faithful. This has been an ongoing struggle in my life as many things present themselves to be a "sweet frame" to lean upon, whether it be my wife, church, family, job, house, or money. I have learned to be thankful and grateful for the good things the Lord brings into my life, but I have also learned that my faith should never be built upon any of these things, but upon God alone.
In the midst of watching God unfold His will through our obedience, I felt as if the biggest obstacle had been left behind. But much like the Israelites journey between the Red Sea and the Jordan River, ahead lay a massive wilderness; one that would cost the Israelites the lives of all but two of the original million or so people who left Egypt. But for now, as I have always found God to be, He wanted me to live one day at a time. The first Sunday that we went to service following Christopher's birth, the front of the bulletin was printed with the words of the hymn, "The Solid Rock".
I couldn't believe it was all happening. It was truly as if a sea of water had parted before me. I still wasn't sure how we were going to pay for the hospital bills but after seeing all of this, money was the least of my concerns. Woody and I recalled Christopher's doctor’s statements in addition to all of the other circumstances. We all knew we were truly witnessing a work of God. Dr. Null might be a persuasive communicator, but we knew it had to be God that changed my stubbornness and Christopher's doctor's heart. And even Liz, who suggested we ask Dr. Null to visit in the first place, couldn't believe the "impossible" was happening. She had already been naming other private doctors that she knew in the neonatal practice whom we might consider changing to if our insurance would permit. God had allowed her to be in the room when Christopher's doctor made his "under no circumstances will I release him" statement and she too was experiencing the same amazement at this event.
Except to receive a sizeable bill from his practice, we would never see or hear from Christopher's doctor again. But despite his beside manner and his apparent absence from the neonatal unit, I feel as if God would have given us the strength to keep Christopher under his care had it been His direction. I think too often we run from bad situations believing that changing the situation is going to make things better. It is important to note that we had no assurances upon leaving Santa Rosa and Christopher's doctor. Christopher might have died in transit or shortly after arriving at Wilford Hall. The only promise we had was that it was God's will. Our feeble faith, which was confirmed by the many accounts in the Bible, provided us with the assurance that by being in God's will, we would be under the shadow of a Presence far greater than that of Christopher's doctor or any other person. We would be in the Presence of the Almighty. Those who have discovered this place know that when you are there, there is no place better in the entire world.
It is this same lesson that God has taught His children over the ages. Corrie Ten Boom's The Hiding Place was certainly about a small room in her house in Haarlem, Holland which was used to hide Jews from the Nazi Germans. But she found out that the true “hiding place” was in the center of God's will. This hiding place could be carried into the prisons of Holland and even into the concentration camps of Germany. It is this same knowledge of His Presence that permitted the Apostle Paul to write, "I have learned to be content in all situations". And he wrote this while writing a letter to the Philippians from a prison. To know you are in God's will ushers forth the greatest peace. God had allowed me to study and teach it for four months to a class of collegians, but now I was living it. This experience had become the living evidence of my classroom lessons.
Later that day I was signing papers to release Christopher from Santa Rosa Hospital and arranging for an ambulance to transport Christopher to Wilford Hall. At Wilford Hall they were preparing an area for Christopher.
Even though Woody had only been able to see Christopher the one time following the delivery, she was already feeling apprehension of having Christopher in a different hospital than herself. "What happens if he needs me, and I'm not there?" she asked. It was at this time she asked me for a promise that I knew I couldn't deliver. "Rick," she began, "I believe with all my heart that Christopher will be healed. But in the event that he should die, I want to be there. Promise me that I will be there when he dies." I was at a loss for words. There was no way I could make that promise and I told her so. As we sat on her bed, we prayed for Christopher and set our hopes on his healing. However, I remembered her request and silently hoped that that day would never come.
In the early evening, two women entered the NICU dressed in medical garb. They washed up and headed for Christopher's bed. After a brief introduction they finalized preparations on an isolette that would be used to transport Christopher. The isolette was a bed surrounded by clear hard plastic with two holes on one side for reaching inside. I was trying to figure out how they were going to transport the ventilator since it required electricity and oxygen hookups. But to my surprise, they disconnected Christopher from the ventilator and attached the tube coming from his mouth to a small rubbery bag that was connected to an oxygen tank. One technician from the transport team began squeezing the bag at a rate she determined was equivalent to the breathing pattern of the ventilator. As she was doing that, the other technician along with Christopher's nurses removed all of the monitors, picked up Christopher, and placed him into the isolette. Once closed, the technician reached through one of the holes on the isolette and continued "bagging" Christopher as the other technician began pushing him towards the exit. I quickly thanked the NICU nurses, ran down to Woody's room to tell her they were transporting Christopher, and then left to follow them over to Wilford Hall.
The sky was black as I reached my car to begin driving to Wilford Hall. I said a quick prayer, thanking the Lord for His faithfulness, and began driving. As I drove along the highway, I could see the lights from Wilford Hall in the distance. It had been a long time since I last had been to that hospital. I was in high school then and had severely damaged my knee in a sports accident. Being an Air Force dependent, this was the hospital that was used for the medical needs of active duty servicemen and their families. But all of this had happened over ten years prior to this visit and the hospital was so much bigger as it grew on the horizon.
Wilford Hall is located on Lackland Air Force Base and is the base that the Air Force uses for training their military recruits. The familiar Air Force guard station loomed in front of me as I turned up the road leading to the hospital. "May I see your military identification," the guard asked. "I'm here to see my son who just passed by in the ambulance," I replied pointing to the ambulance that I could see parked at the main entrance to the hospital. "OK. Go on!" he replied as he directed me through the gate. As I drove closer to the entrance, I could see the technicians wheeling Christopher toward the main doors. I turned back toward the massive parking area, found a parking space, and then ran up to the hospital to follow them. By the time I had arrived, they were gone into a maze of hallways and elevators.
Receiving directions from the information booth, I made my way up to the second floor, through a hallway that contained windows for viewing the newborn babies, and was abruptly halted by a set of double doors that stated, "RESTRICTED AREA No unauthorized personnel beyond this point". Peering through the window, I could see a nurse’s station, along with my parents and sister. I gingerly cracked the door open and poked my head inside and called for my parents. When they saw me, they waved me on through.
Inside was a wave of activity. Dr. Null was standing by the nurse’s station talking to my parents. When he saw me coming, he greeted me and told me that Christopher had done fine during the transfer. Meanwhile, the technicians who had transported Christopher were on their way out of the NICU. They came by and wished us well and headed back out into the main hallway pushing their now empty isolette.
The layout of the nursery at Wilford Hall was much different than the one at Santa Rosa. Just inside the double doors was a room containing the nurses station. The NICU, intermediate care nursery, and the wellborn area were divided into separate rooms with doorways that led into this room. A wall containing windows divided the nurses station and the NICU. Inside were two aisles containing the same type of bed Christopher had at Santa Rosa. The first aisle had a row of beds backed up against a mid-room divider so that they faced the window to the nurse’s station. The second aisle contained beds on either side of the aisle. A corridor in the middle of the room divided the aisles into two halves.
They had placed Christopher up against the back wall of the nursery. Inside I could see David working along with several nurses and technicians. Dr. Null asked me to wait outside until they finished getting Christopher set up.
Up until this time, I had no idea what David did as a resident doctor. I knew he spent a lot of time at the hospital, but it was hard for me to comprehend his responsibilities. It wasn't until this time that I understood that he was primarily responsible for all of the babies care in the NICU and the intermediate care nursery, including Christopher. David came out of the NICU to tell us that Christopher was doing fine. As we had been told earlier, they had attached Christopher to the high frequency ventilator and David informed me that his oxygen requirements had already come down. Knowing I wanted to go in, he led me over to a sink and showed me the NICU gowns.
The NICU at Wilford Hall was even busier than at Santa Rosa. Unlike Santa Rosa, almost every bed was full. The bed next to Christopher's contained a full term, little girl who looked three times the size of Christopher. He was so small. In between the girl's and Christopher's bed stood a rectangular steel box perched on top of a shiny pole. At the base, five spider-like legs with wheels jutted out much like an office chair. On one side of the box, a stiff, rigid, clear plastic tube extended out toward Christopher and attached to a tube coming from Christopher's mouth. This was the high frequency ventilator, or "the magic, silver box" as it was nicknamed because of the numerous babies it had helped to get well.
I thought I finally understood God's will. God had permitted us to go through Santa Rosa in order to teach us to trust in Him so He could show Himself strong even when all things seemed stacked against us. The exodus was truly miraculous and I was beginning to be enveloped by the euphoria of standing on the other side. Now I felt confident that we were going to make a short stay and head home with a healthy baby. Already both his oxygen and pressure requirements were coming down and I was anxious to pass on the good news back to Woody. I thanked Dr. Null, David, and all of the staff, gave good-bye kisses and hugs to my sister and parents, and headed back to Santa Rosa. Woody was thrilled to hear the good news and following a "thank you" prayer we both headed off to a good night's sleep.
I spent the next day at both Santa Rosa and Wilford Hall spending time with Christopher and Woody. Both were doing much better and we were hoping that Woody would be able to leave the next day. My parents invited me to come over for dinner, and with Woody's permission, I took them up on their offer. The dinner conversation focused mostly on Christopher's miraculous recovery, and especially the high frequency ventilator. I was thankful for the ventilator, but I quietly thanked God as I desired not to take any glory away from His miracle.
Following dinner, I rode with my sister out to Wilford Hall to visit Christopher. She commonly picked up David after long shifts fearing he would fall asleep driving home. After a short visit, we headed back towards my parent's home. Christopher's pressure and oxygen requirements had come down considerably that day and David and Liz continued the conversation at how amazing the ventilator worked. Midway home, my sister asked me, "Aren't you glad that Christopher is at Wilford Hall so he can be on the high frequency ventilator?" I was just about to say "yes" when the words of the hymn "The Solid Rock" filled my mouth, "My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus blood and righteousness." To this day I am still amazed at my Spirit breathed response. I didn't desire to be rude or ungrateful for all that both of them had done. Nor did I want to doubt about Christopher's recovery. Nor did I doubt that the high frequency ventilator had helped Christopher to get better. But something deep within me told me to keep my faith on God and God alone. The hymn goes on to say, "I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus' name. On Christ the Solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand, all other ground is sinking sand."
I was unaware of the long struggle that we faced ahead, but the truth in the words of that hymn stayed with me. Through Christopher's stay, I would find that at times the doctors, nurses, pastors, members of my family, friends, and technology would disappoint, but I always found God to remain faithful. This has been an ongoing struggle in my life as many things present themselves to be a "sweet frame" to lean upon, whether it be my wife, church, family, job, house, or money. I have learned to be thankful and grateful for the good things the Lord brings into my life, but I have also learned that my faith should never be built upon any of these things, but upon God alone.
In the midst of watching God unfold His will through our obedience, I felt as if the biggest obstacle had been left behind. But much like the Israelites journey between the Red Sea and the Jordan River, ahead lay a massive wilderness; one that would cost the Israelites the lives of all but two of the original million or so people who left Egypt. But for now, as I have always found God to be, He wanted me to live one day at a time. The first Sunday that we went to service following Christopher's birth, the front of the bulletin was printed with the words of the hymn, "The Solid Rock".
 |
| Trinity Church bulletin on the first Sunday that we attended following Christopher's birth. |
Boom, Corrie Ten, John L. Sherrill, and Elizabeth Sherrill. The Hiding Place. Washington Depot, CT: Chosen, 1971. Print.
© Copyright 1987, 2016 by Rick Murata. All Rights Reserved.