I love baseball. This might be heresy in these parts (especially during march madness) but baseball is the one sport that I find completely engrossing. Don't get me wrong, we spent the first two days of Emily's hospital stay watching basketball, and actually asked the nurses to hold on a minute when they tried to bust in on the last 30 seconds of the Duke game, but there is yet some magic in a baseball game that exists nowhere else.
I'm the guy who loves baseball to the extent that I often keep score. I sit there - all night - jotting those marks on the score card that are decipherable only by the 9 or 10 other baseball nerds in the stadium who are doing the same thing.
So for those of you who are keeping score, Emily's score is currently 34. That is, the reading on her breathing test is currently -34 (I know it sounds more like a golf score). Every morning they test how much air she can breath in on her own. This is called a NIF. I don't know what those letters stand for, except the middle one is for "inspiration," and that is what this test has been. It is Emily's inspiration to work hard to get off of the ventilator. Last Thursday her score was in the low teens, and over the past four days it has gone from 18 - 22 - 25 and finally today she astonished everyone with her 34. It was the first thing she signed to me when I arrived at the hospital this morning.
She needs to be in the strong 40's before they take her off of the ventilator totally, but she's getting there.
Here's the other thing about baseball. It takes a long time. It takes such a long time that they have to build in a time for you to stand up and move around because you've been sitting for too long. It is a game where sometimes the action is slow, and other times it is fast. It is a great drama, full of subtlety and surprise.
Recovering from Guillain-Barré Syndrome also promises to take a long time. It will be filled with slow days, and at times miraculous ones. It has already been full of small miracles and the subtle signs of God's grace.
I am the sort of person who is not inclined to try to explain this sort of meaningless suffering. In my experience sometimes suffering is not logical, it is not explainable, it just is. I am also stubborn, and not inclined to listen to other's when they try to explain that this is part of God's plan. I do not believe this to have any place in God's plan, but I do believe that God is present even in this.
In this season of lent - while we wait - I look forward to Good Friday and if we are discussing logic and meaning and suffering, there is nothing less logical than the crucifixion. Creation killing it's own creator is the most supremely illogical concept that I can imagine, and yet there it is. And in the midst of it, there is God. Not fixing things, not explaining things - hanging on a cross and suffering with us. God chose to be with us not just in power and glory, but in pain and weakness and suffering and blood and death. God is also with us in room 4209. In this knowledge I have drawn strength.
Sorry for the long post but, if you're keeping score, it's shorter than your average baseball game.
