The Why and the What
November 30, 2011 by Billy Coffey · 1 Comment
image courtesy of photobucket.com
If you’ve been around here for very long, chances are you’ve caught me discussing my daughter’s diabetes. Talking about it, wrestling with it, trying to find the reasons behind it or trying to find out if there’s a reason at all. It’s one of those things that can be tough to figure out if you subscribe to the idea of a loving God.
To say my daughter’s disease is a part of His will leaves a bad taste in my mouth (it’s metallic, that taste, like having pennies in your cheeks).
To say that it’s meant as a blessing tastes even worse. Come stay with her for a couple days and see if you can say that. You might still be able to, but I bet you won’t be able to look me in the eye.
But to say that there isn’t a reason at all, that it’s just one of those things because life just kind of sucks sometimes, doesn’t really sit well either. That just makes me think that it all either caught God by surprise or He just didn’t care enough to do anything about it. And as jaded as her diabetes can make me sometimes, I’m not willing to abide by either of those theories.
So I usually just keep quiet about it. I focus on making sure her sugar is the best it can be. Make sure she eats the right things and exercises and gets the proper dose of insulin. I tell myself that the Why doesn’t matter because that’s something I can’t control, that it’s the What I’m supposed to worry myself with because I can somewhat control that.
Still, that Why has a way of sneaking up. It preys on my mind. I’m sure you understand. We all have our own Whys.
It was preying on my mind last night at three o’clock in the morning. The Witching Hour, some call it. That time of night when the darkness is the darkest and supposedly the veil between the worlds of the seen and unseen thin enough that they intermingle. Her sugar had bottomed out. I was trying to keep her awake enough to drink some juice and not doing a very good job. She kept nodding off, and I’d have to shake her. That’s when the Why came again.
“I’m sorry you have to do this,” I whispered to her.
She nodded—she always nods at three in the morning, that’s all she can do—and felt for the straw in her cup.
“I wish I could make it go away.”
Nod and slurp, and I figured that if she wasn’t asleep yet she would be soon, which meant I’d have to shake her awake again so she could finish. And then I’ll have to wake her again fifteen minutes later to make sure her sugar was going in the right direction.
“I know it’s not fair.”
But not a nod that time. That time, it was, “It’s okay. We love each other through it.”
She finished her juice and curled up under the blankets again. I sat there watching her, trying to figure out if what she said was just her sleep or herself. I figured that didn’t matter.
I also figured that if there really was a reason, maybe that was it. Maybe that’s why God allows so much suffering. Because through suffering we learn not just to love, but to love more.
And if this world needs anything, it is that.
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In A Gray World
May 8, 2009 by Billy Coffey · 33 Comments
I’m sitting in bed on a Tuesday night that has just become a Wednesday morning, watching reruns of M*A*S*H while sipping a strong cup of coffee. My family is tucked safely into the arms of slumber, but there will be little if any sleep for me tonight.
My daughter is sick.
Stomach ache, fever and all general malaise. Usually an inconvenience for parents of small children, but a big deal to us. Our daughter is diabetic, and anything as small as a cold can either send her blood sugar through the roof or through the floor.
The presence of a fever requires a glucose check every two hours, so to stay awake I have a stack of papers on the nightstand beside me. Hidden among the local and national news is an article from ABC News that I printed off the internet. “Researchers Use Embryonic Stem Cells to Treat Diabetes,” it says.
On March 9, President Obama signed a bill that increased government funding for embryonic stem cells, which can morph into any cell and could theoretically cure a number of diseases and handicaps from Alzheimer’s to paralysis. And diabetes.
These cells are considered by many a potential gold mine for medical advancements. They could both save millions of lives and give life back to millions.
And to this father of this child, it would be an answer to countless prayers.
Of all the traits my wife displays in her life, the one I try to emulate and make my own is what she calls the black and the white. To her, life in this world is either/or. There is no middle ground and no tightrope to walk. Either you do good, or you do evil. Either you do right, or you do wrong. You either stand with the angels, or you don’t.
It’s a way of life that has served her well over the years. If I would have followed her lead earlier, my life would be missing many of the regrets I carry every day. But as I follow her lead now, I’m working on it. Trying.
For instance: my faith states that using embryonic stem cells, even for noble purposes, is wrong. To me and millions of others, these cells are life. And to manipulate them in any way cheapens that life, which is something that happens in our society enough as it is. One of the biggest reasons why there is so much violence and hate in this world stems from the fact we no longer honor life. That it is no longer considered holy and sacred.
This is what I believe.
And yet here we are, so technologically advanced that a few tiny cells could conceivably cure my daughter’s disease. Could give her the new life that her old one was, one without finger pricks and insulin shots and keytones and carb counting.
Do you know what it’s like for your child to look at you through tears and say, “I just want to go to heaven with Jesus, Daddy, because then I won’t feel so bad anymore?”
I do. And it hurts.
Faith is supposed to take care of that kind of hurt. It’s supposed to prop you up when you feel you are about to stumble. It is supposed to be your constant. Your First.
It is exactly that for me and my life, with perhaps the one exception of the little girl in the room next to mine. Trying to live by black and white is a noble task, I think. It’s good to know where you stand and what you stand for. But it’s also a hard thing. It’s hard to live by black and white in a world clouded by gray.
Because even if I feel that what our president has done in furthering embryonic stem cell research is wrong, a part of me now has hope. And I just don’t know what that says about me.
Because the day may come when I will be forced to answer this question:
If this can cure my daughter’s diabetes, will I withhold it from her because of my faith?
Or will I grant it to her because of my love?
(this post was published as a column in the Staunton News Leader on 5/8/09)
Author of Snow Day and Paper Angels (November 2011), both by FaithWords. But don't let that fool you. I'm just as confused as anyone.
And that is fine with me, because the great thing about wandering around in the fog is that you never know what you might run into.
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