Two months ago, I held Lynnea in my arms for the very last time, rocking her as she took her final breaths. On July 5th, I said my final good-bye, but really, in a lot of ways, I had already lost her on June 17th when she went into cardiac arrest. That night, while I stood in the doorway of her hospital room watching the doctors doing chest compressions on my baby, desperately working to bring her back to life, I prayed, as I had so many times in Lynnea's lifetime, for a miracle. The miracle I was hoping for was a miracle of healing, of restoration, of more time with my baby. . .just a little more time. But, also as always, even though it was hard to do, I ended my prayer with "not my will, but Thy will be done." I was not given the miracle of complete healing that I had been hoping for, but I was given a little more time; there were no more smiles, or giggles, or demands for water on a pink minty sponge, but there was time for a few more goodnight kisses, a few more nibbles at her baby-back ribs, and time for more prayers. Lots of people prayed: family, friends, friends of friends, complete strangers. . . they all prayed, and continued to pray. A friend of mine called me after we had gotten the very discouraging news about the MRI results that showed that Lynnea had suffered extensive brain damage; she had been praying for Lynnea and our family, and she wanted to know what she should pray for specifically, rather than the more general prayer of strength and comfort that she had been praying. I told her to pray for clarity -- I was tired of all of the gray areas, I wanted to know how to proceed in a way that was best for Lynnea; I wanted to be able to clearly see what was best for Lynnea without having my judgment clouded by my own selfish desires for her. I wanted healing. I wanted Lynnea to live. I wanted as much time as I could possibly have with her. I wanted all of these things for me so badly that it was difficult to know if I was really still doing what was best for her. So, my friend prayed that my family and I would have clarity in the decisions that we were being forced to make. And that clarity came. It became clear how much Lynnea was suffering, and how much better off she would be snuggling in the arms of Jesus experiencing all of the glories of heaven, and it became clear how selfish it was to keep her here in a world where all she could know was suffering. It might be easy to ask why the prayer for clarity was answered while the prayer for a miracle was not. But, along with clarity about how to proceed with Lynnea, there also came clarity about the miracle I had asked for; the night that Lynnea coded, I prayed for a miracle -- not my will, but His will -- and indeed a miracle did take place. During those last weeks in the hospital, I was shown that there were far more people praying for Lynnea, being impacted by her and her struggles, than I could even imagine. There was strength given through those prayers, strength for me and my family to make the impossible choices that we were faced with, strength to say our goodbyes to sweet little Lynnea with confidence, and strength to go on in spite of the pain that comes from the empty hole that is left in our lives without her here. Thank you to everyone who prayed for Lynnea throughout her life, and who keep praying for us now that she is gone.
