The daylight was just beginning to break as we drove up the mountain near our New Mexico home. We were looking to escape, even just for a day, from the many fears of the unknown.
We knew our son would be born with Down syndrome. Our doctor led us to believe there was no hope. So we were putting our hope in the military—that the powers that be would at least move us closer to family. We were waiting.
At the time, the weight of the future was heavy. We found travel as a means of both physical and mental escape.
We turned on a sermon that seemed to be carbon copied for us. Andy Stanley talked about how suffering makes us “uniquely qualified” to help others who will walk a similar road.
In a time where very little brought us comfort, this was a catalyst towards healing. It started a process that made realize there was purpose in the pain.
I have a thank you note that is a year over-due to a woman named Allison.
I barely knew her in college, but her story of suffering stuck with me before we got Anderson’s diagnosis.
She and her husband had publicly announced their first pregnancy. If you are a parent, you know how over-joyous this time can be. But it all came crashing down the next day when her doctor called her to tell her their baby had signs of Trisomy 18. For many reasons, her doctor explained that he would likely not live. So they waited for the inevitable to happen. Their son Deacon died before he had the chance to take his first breath.