Questioning and praying

I've been following this blog for a few weeks now.

As most of you know, I'm not big on the religion thing. I have my own beliefs and I'm spiritual in my own way. I don't shout it out to the world, I keep it to myself. But reading about little Stellan makes me want to share two stories, makes me want to question what I really believe, and makes me want to pray with all my heart.

I do not know this little boy. I have never met him or his mom, yet I know how his mother feels. My little Aiden was fighting for his life 4 years ago... not because of the same illness that Stellan has, but because my son decided he was going to be born in November, not January. I know the fear of having your precious child hooked up to a million machines. I know the feeling that you might lose your child.

I had lost complete faith in God, in religion, in everything after my dad died. I couldn't believe that HE would allow something like this to happen to me. But HE did, and I hated Him for it.

Aiden was born at 32 weeks, 4 days. When he came out, he made it clear that he was here. He screamed so loud, I think people heard him in the waiting room. I think I even told Brian "Uh-oh, we're in for it." His apgar score? 8-9. CARTER didn't even score that well. (His was 5-7) I remember them showing him to me, and whisking him away so fast. The next time I saw him, he was hooked up to a CPAP machine and I couldn't see his little face buried in all those wires and tubes. I was called at 3 am, November 2nd, in my hospital room, to be told "You need to come down here. We had to put him on a ventilator and we don't think he's going to make it through the night." It was the worst feeling IN. THE. WORLD.

I have never told anyone this. I prayed like there was no tomorrow. I begged God, whoever, whatever is out there to save my baby. I couldn't deal with the thought that I had gone 7 months with this little human inside of me, to only have him die a day later.

This, however, was not the last time I prayed. The only other time that sticks out in my mind was the night I found out I was going to miscarry Channing. (or so we were told) I cried hysterically and told Him that if he was going to take my baby, to do it fast, and to make it bearable. I then proceeded to beg, once again, to NOT take my child. I said I'd do anything.... anything at all. I asked Him why he needed my child. Why I couldn't keep him. (or it, since we didn't know what HE was until 12 weeks later)

I look back at this and now see that I was selfish for only talking to Him then. In my time of need. Like I said though, I have my own relationship with Him... I'm pretty sure He knows how stubborn I can be. But I'm pretty sure He heard my call.

Over the last few weeks, I have prayed for this little boy, one I don't know, to make it through his operation. I have prayed for his Mama to have the strength to get through this trying ordeal. I've been praying for a positive outcome.

Sometimes I wonder if praying is really worth it. I mean, my belief is that we choose everything that happens to us before we come here. If that is true... little Stellan's path is already paved for him. I can only hope that it turns out to be a wonderful ending for him and his family.

Little Stellan and Mckmama (Jennifer)... I pray and wish for nothing but the best for you.