Recently, I've been following the painful, but incredibly inspiring, story of Tripp Roth, a toddler living with epidermolysis bullosa. EB is a condition wherein the skin is incredibly fragile, resulting in blisters and sores gained by even the slightest touch. Doctors didn't expect Tripp to survive his first year, but he made it two years and eight months.
Another child's journey I cared greatly about was Evan Sharp, an eleven-year-old here in Omaha who was diagnosed with Glioblastoma (brain tumor) in 2010. He never wavered, never faltered, never complained. No matter how bad things got (and let me tell you, he had a really brutal final year, not just with health but with personal issues), he constantly turned to God and told anyone who would listen that this was God's plan for him and he was okay with that.
Evan went Home on December twenty-first, and Tripp followed on January fourteenth. To their last breaths, they were strong, happy guys, images I'm sure their families are hugely fortunate to hold on to. For myself and many others following their fights, news of Evan and Tripp's passing, though expected, were still tragic and tough to deal with.
Being a mother (and especially being a mother who had a difficult pregnancy, a rocky birth experience and ultimately a baby struggling in the NICU), it's so hard to hear of another mother losing their little one. I often ask God, 'Why? Why babies? Why little children? Why not murderers, pedophiles? Why?' I know the answer will not come to me in this life. I know, like Evan knew, that everything happens according to God's Will, and, like Evan, I'm learning more and more to say, 'Your Will be done, Lord.' and believe, whole-heartedly, His Will is perfect and whole. I know every baby, every child who is formed, yet doesn't live to be born or doesn't live to grow up, had a purpose they fulfilled before going Home to God's arms. There is a rhyme and a reason to all things, good and bad. I know this, and I hold it close to my heart when terrible things happen.
Evan and Tripp remind me to hug my son whenever I can, no matter how hard he struggles to free himself from my embrace. They remind me to be grateful for every single moment, even when August is lying on the ground throwing a temper tantrum. They remind me to be slow to anger with my little man, because you never know when everything can change in an instant. They remind me to be full to bursting with love, because love is the greatest thing worth living for. Mostly, though, they remind me to hold fast to God and always be thankful for any and everything He allows me to go through, because every day, every minute is a blessing, a lesson and a chance to make memories that last when nothing else does.
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