Mastering the Silent Scream

Last night I learned how to execute the perfect silent scream.

Art credit: unknown

It's not that hard, really. Just watch your child's heart break, then lie on the floor next to his bed and wrestle with God without waking your child.

You see, I have a sweet, funny, kind, loving, tender-hearted 8 1/2yo boy who wets the bed at night. He had no problems learning to stay dry during the day, and actually did that quicker and earlier than any of his brothers. But he struggles with nighttime mightily.

For the longest time, he was OK with it. Not embarrassed. It was just a part of his life. They made pull-ups in his size, so obviously he wasn't alone. We've tried several times before to fix it, to no avail. Alarms, hormone replacement, a half-hearted attempt at chiropractic care. Nothing has worked. So we continued to wait.

But with two weeks of sleep-away camp looming in July, he decided he wanted to get serious about it over spring break. It's just the two of us at home for 10 days, so I've been sleeping on his floor in a sleeping bag, waking him when I hear him stir at night so he can go to the bathroom. Each night before bed, we give this problem over to God and ask for his help. For him to help Jordan wake up, stay dry, or both.



First night ... success!
Second night ... one accident ... but we're cool with that.
Third night ... success!

After some additional research, we expanded our scope of possible root causes and started attacking all of them at once. I don't care which one works, as long as one of them does. So in addition to me sleeping on his floor, he's now taking magnesium supplements, taking a hormone replacement medication that worked for one of his brothers, and back at the chiropractor's.

Fourth night ... disappointment.

Last night was the fifth night. When Jordan stirred for the first time five hours after going to bed, I woke him to go to the bathroom. Too late. Change clothes. Change sheets. Back to bed.

It was then ... on his floor at 3 a.m. ... that I mastered the silent scream. I lay next to his bed and, like Jacob, wrestled with God. I cried. I screamed. I pleaded. I really wish He had been there physically so I could pound on his chest. I know this is a small thing in the grand scheme of things. In a world of war, death, and disease, is bedwetting really such a big deal?

To Jordan it is. And I brought God into it for him. And so far, in his eyes, God's not there.

Why, God? Why can't you do this one thing to shore up the faith of a child? His faith is so young ... so new ... so fragile. You could win his heart forever with this one, small thing. He's not Paul who pleaded with you to remove the thorn from his side. He is not a mature believer, strong in the faith. He's just a kid.

Give it to me, God. Make me incontinent. Give me a disease. Give me anything ... just take this from him. 

But so far, He has chosen not to. Last night, in the midst of my silent hissy fit, I thought I heard from God.

Stop grasping, child. Stop trying to fix it. You can't fix it. Only I can. Stop. Be still, and know that I am God.

Was it God telling me to stop sleeping on the floor, stop waking him, stop the supplements, stop the drugs, stop the chiro adjustments? Because then, when it happens, there will be no doubt that God was behind it?

Or is this just a tired mama imagining things?

I haven't given the supplements, the hormone replacement, or the chiro time to work, so I'm really not surprised that they haven't. To throw in the towel now seems premature.

But what scares me is stepping away, and putting it entirely on God's shoulders. God gave us medicine and doctors and counsel for a reason. They're here to help. But am I trying to substitute them for the Great Physician?

But what scares me more is this:

If I step away and put it entirely on God's shoulders ... what if he shrugs? 

What will that do to my child's faith? 

And what will it do to mine?

DDD