page 3 of Jeremiah.....
But please, may I ...?
One early morning in Day 4 we had very early visitors. I could hear them downstairs. Jem vomited and I was shaken. I adjusted his ivf, cleaned him up, and slumped on the floor. I had made my bargains with God the
night before and settled down with the thought he would be kind and gracious. Why am I not seeing my ram in the thicket yet? It seemed so long in coming. And my hand upraised and poised for the sacrificial blow seemed locked in slowmo.
Why couldn't an angel see the cue and stop me now? Because the Director had not said so yet. From slumping to kneeling by Jem's bedside, crying profusely, I plead with my Director in heaven. It was then that my husband Leo came up and
found me and rebuked me. This was not time for crying but for warfare. Reacting to this break-in, I told him "If you are seeing demons, get them, hit them, strike them. Whatever you have to do, do it now." (I was still
wrestling with God, and was not taking the cue from my husband. I was not ready to give up my privacy and it showed in my voice, raised and angry. Displaced anger it was, I know I could not be angry with God, but maybe with myself for
being so slow that my usually patient husband should catch me unprepared.) Because of my emotional outburst, Jem said from his sickbed, "Mommy, it's all right. Didn't you say this is for me so I will be trained in warfare? So don't
cry. Please don't fight with Daddy. This is for me". His words silenced me. He understood his situation. He acknowledged that this was of God. He released me from the guilt of learning my lessons at his expense. And he was willing
to learn his lesson too. His grasp of the hand of God at work in his life was sobering. If he were not bedridden by his bloated abdomen, I would have whisked him up from bed to hug him tight. From the mouth of my boy I get a replay
of what I have been taught and was already teaching: the enemy is not your spouse. For the battle is not between flesh and blood.
Because of this I determined to lock shields together with my husband, my son, and the rest of the household who had stood by us as a team. Later in the morning I learn
the ASEAN Summit for Children is being held in the country, and delegates from ASEAN had come. The papers for days now have been full of articles on child abuse in various forms, pedophilia, incest, rape, child molestation and
prostitution. Then I began to see the connection between Jem's ailment. We were to move in warfare in this area, Jem was symbolic of all children and his ailment symbolic of the ills that have been inflicted on our children thruout the
world. The lower abdomen which houses much of the generative tract represents the abuses that are being done in this area. I shared it with him, my husband and the rest of the team so we would have direction in our prayers. While Leo led
the others I led Jem to identify whatever spirits we could and deal with them. Everytime a bout of pain would come on we quickly sped to pray for children, starting with ones that he knew, classmates and playmates, not stopping until the
pain goes away. For example, he was reminded of a classmate at the Christian school he goes to. During their Christian Living class a boy wished aloud that he were the fig leaves so he could get near Eve. He learned to identify the
lusts at school, lurking behind coarse jokes and crushes. He would pray against these until the pain went away. I coached him, I cheered him. Each complaint of pain was too much to bear. I would break into tongues, urging him to do the
same, to drive the spirit of pain away.
Earlier I had wanted to give him a potent pain killer but it
required a special license that I stopped using when I left my anesthesiology practice, and moved to other fields that would keep me close to home. I had planned to either try to get away with using my ordinary license, or I might ask to
use his uncle's but that would be cheating. Somehow this was not necessary anymore.
We also learned to
identify the spirit of filth harassing the children in the streets and the dumps. He noticed that at dawn whenever the garbage truck passes by he would go into a fit of pain. So the next dawn when we heard the honk of the garbage truck
blocks away, we started rebuking the spirit and praying for the street children. Then by the time it comes to our street, there is no more pain. This was a lesson on anticipating enemy moves.
The day that we rolled up our sleeves to wage good warfare, the whole family, the whole team that included our 5 children and our 3 precious
fulltime church workers, Jeremiah was looking very toxic. His ivfluids and medicines came and went fast, evidenced by the growing pile of dextrose bottles and medicine vials. I knew getting sick was expensive but did not realize until
then that these pharmaceuticals could be that expensive. Even so I was grateful there was something to spend, perhaps even more grateful there was something to spend on. Later I was to recognize the pseudosecurity in being able to do something, whatever that is. I was seeing money that would feed us for the next 4weeks going in 4 days, but it did not matter. The savings on hospital bills made me feel rich enough.
That day too that Jem declared his commitment to learn with us, he had a dream. He was on a bed with white
sheets, pretty flowers were around him, (Mommy, was that heaven?) We could not say. Then, as if to comfort us he says, I see Jesus looking down at me, smiling. He dozes back to sleep. Then he wakes up at 10a.m. and says, Mommy, Daddy,
something is going to happen at 12:00noon. I don't know what, I just feel it. He looks at me with those soulful dark eyes, his long lashes flutter and he dozes back. Leo, my husband, and I confer and agreed we needed to war against the
spirit of death, among other things. I go down to alert our warriors who were right under Jem's room in prayer. The other children were still in school. In the living room I note in the newspaper that this day was a highlight in the
Asean Summit for Children. Back in Jem's room, Leo and I continue to wage warfare. I put on my gear: black pump shoes with snakeskin at the heels, and march around my son's bed, declaring the praises of God, God's will upon the children
of the nations, and rebuking the spirit of death hovering over children in hospitals, schools and homes, that particular hour. Once or twice before 12noon Jem would open his eyes and check the time from the wall clock behind him. We
prayed unceasingly until past 1pm when we felt the heaven was clear. So that when Jeremiah opened his eyes again we could tell him, It's now all right, son. His father, his warrior tutor, tousled his hair and assures him.
I listen to his abdomen again, like I have been doing from Day 1, listening for those precious bowel sounds that
would encourage me that all is still well, asking him if he was passing out gas per rectum. This would make him smile as he nods and it makes me happy. He was learning about borborygmi and the importance of the embarrassing gas. Earlier
that day those precious tinkles had been few, far and in between, and when I was about to panic over a 'silent abdomen' a tinkle or two would come through the steth to my anxious ears. At just the right time, God's grace is sufficient.
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