3 Hours, 14 Minutes

That’s how long my son was in surgery a few years ago.

I wish I could tell you I was strong but I wasn’t.  Handing your child over to surgeons intent on cutting into his body is not a natural thing to do.  You appreciate Abraham’s story a little more, what with his son to the altar and all.  That was some real strength because on that long walk he was sure he was saying goodbye. God had not asked such a sacrifice from me. I had a fine surgeon and the staff at Children's Hospital of Los Angeles intent on bringing my son safely back to my arms.

Prior to leaving work to head to the hospital to meet up with my family before the surgery I felt myself stumbling so I fled to a strong Christian in my office building named Leo.  He calmed me down and we prayed.  “Don’t worry about anything. He will be fine,” Leo said, adding as we parted, “It’s a done deal." His faith was in his face, not his words. It was beautiful.

At the hospital I was asked to walk my son into the operating room for his anesthesia, as he did not want to take his “drowsy” medicine prior to being put under.  I wanted to stumble again but there are certain times in life where you have to keep yourself up.  Yeah right.  I prayed. God grabbed me by the collar and carried me in there.  I saw all the tools on the tables and my heart gripped tight but there was my son, holding my hand,  looking up at me, full of trust in his eyes.  It was beautiful.

I asked God to kindly let go of my collar now. I would be okay. He did. I was.

After Anthony went to sleep I left the operating room, accidentally almost shaking the surgeon’s hand on the way out (genius, huh?), and went to a quiet place to cry.  It was a pretty lonely place. I wondered if that was what it was like for Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane and decided it was worse for him, what with all his friends falling asleep on him and all.  I wasn't so alone, as another Christian  – my father in law – found me out and we prayed together.

After the surgery the next 36 hours were defined by one word: pain. And a lot of it. My son had double leg surgery, with both thigh bones cut, straightened and fused.  It was a necessary thing but try explaining that to an 8 year old.  But my son proved yet again that he is tougher than anyone I have ever known or ever will know.

When I returned to work the next day I was exhausted and done.  Yet another Christian, as if sent there by appointment, was there waiting for me: Danny the uniform delivery guy. I didn’t hold my composure very well but he did, and he witnessed a bit.  Danny almost made it in the Special Forces , but he blew out his knee in training. Danny is a tough guy. You don't want to mess with Danny. And yet who returned at lunchtime five hours later with a bunch of get well flowers and a card?

In the card was written Isaiah 40:31.  "But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles."  I knew, right then and beyond a shadow of any doubt, that my little man would be fine and that he would not only walk again, he would soar. He has. It's been beautiful.