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Hope

He’s my Son

 

He’s my our Son.

His disease doesn’t have a cure.

Yet.

So in the glorious opportunities of everyday life, there is always a grounded reminder to live in gratitude.

Always.

Grounded.

 

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My Son’s Pain Update

Last night after delivering a Web Seminar, I picked up our third-grade son, like every other day. Except Wednesday, we have Catechism.

He’s a student and I’m a junior assistant deputy teacher. Miss Jane runs the class, and I sort of help by staying out of the way and pitching in here and there.

Anyway, our routine is a drive-through fast food place for dinner, eat on the way and in the parking lot. Clean ourselves up a bit. Class 6:30 – 7:45PM. Head home.

Our son could barely walk on his right leg, so we did not go.

We never know when he will have pain, where he will have pain (it migrates all over his body), or how long it will last.

It’s just a part of our landscape. We simply do the best we can, and keep moving forward.

How do I tell my son there is no cure?

How do I tell my son there is no cure?

I’m staring at an envelope I received yesterday.

It’s from CCFA.

I haven’t opened it yet, but I will.

On the front, it says:

A loving mother asks, “How do I tell my son there is no cure”?

Our son has had this disease for five years. He’s almost nine.

I don’t really have the energy to go into the story right now.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not.

There are worse things in the world. Worse diseases. Worse odds. Worse everything.

In some strange way, it almost makes me feel blessed to only have the challenge we have. Knowing full well, for many, it’s worse.

As I pray for our son, and for my wife, I will also lift up all those who are suffering, which should be everyone.

Anyway, have a nice evening. Peace, Joy and Love, jeff noel 🙂