At this time tomorrow, Tarica and I will be setting up house inside the walls of Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh.

I feel as taut as a piano wire.

Last night, I read and reread that familiar verse, trying to saturate myself in its truth: “Casting all your care upon him, for he careth for you.” (1 Peter 5:7)

Throw all your anxiety on the Lord, Stephanie.

I’m trying, I’m trying, but it keeps falling short of its goal.

Stress has always robbed me of my sleep and my appetite. But I actually slept last night—except for a brief, wakeful watch in the hour of three—and that is a minor miracle. Now I just have to get through breakfast, lunch, and supper.

Tarica is looking forward to her hospital stay, but I suspect that has something to do with the air of Christmas around here. Such a sneaking around with mysterious parcels and boxes she isn’t allowed to open and packages arriving in the mail. It’s enough to drive any little girl into spasms of curiosity.

But she doesn’t have enough spasms otherwise.

My husband is an appliance repairman. He has lost count of the times he has gone out to a customer with a clunking washer or leaking dishwasher that runs beautifully while he, the repairman, is there. And haven’t you done this, too? You finally set up that doctor appointment, but the symptoms eased or disappeared shortly before you got there.

Despite having her medication cut in half, Tarica isn’t seizing enough, and tomorrow she is to be hospitalized to study her seizures.

It’s embarrassing to admit how much this worries me. What if she doesn’t seize enough for the doctors to locate the seizure focus?

A month ago, I would have been wild with joy to be in these shoes. Now, I am just sick with worry. A lot of time and inconvenience and prayer has been invested in these ten days at Children’s. A lot of money will be, too.

And what if she doesn’t seize?

(Okay, maybe a miracle did happen, maybe the seizures are gone, her epilepsy healed—I’m not discounting this as a possibility. But the not knowing eats at me.)

I’m trying to throw my worries on the Lord, but I have a terrible arm. I crave your help.

Pray for us.

Pray that Tarica would seize enough to give the doctors the needed information. Pray that her mind and spirit would be calm even if her brain isn’t.

Pray for Linford and me, that we would be strong and that our faith would not waver. Pray that I will be able to eat and sleep.

Pray for safe travels as Linford drives back and forth between his divided family.

Pray for the doctors, that they would have wisdom and discernment.

Pray a blessing on those sacrificing to help us.

Pray as the Lord leads you.

Pray His will be done.

Pray.

Several postscripts:

The photo above was taken this past weekend by a talented friend, bless her heart. She did a fabulous job with limited resources and time. (Jenica is seven; Tarica is five; Micah is twenty months. Dad and Mom are not as young as they used to be.)

I don’t know if I’ll be able to post updates while at the hospital. It all depends on… everything. Sometimes it’s difficult to write of an event while in the middle of it. Also, if Tarica goes ballistic, I’ll need to concentrate on her.

And thank you for praying. It’s not from lack of prayers that I feel anxious; it is my own weakness.

Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest. (Joshua 1:9)