“Trust in the Lord and do good.”

This Bible verse from Psalm has been rolling around in my head these last few weeks. I know it’s a simple verse, but I have had a hard time wrapping my mind around it. Trusting in the Lord is hard enough, but then to walk around doing good all the time is absolutely exhausting to even think about.

Honestly, I am just trying to SURVIVE.

Ya’ll, I don’t have time to do good. I have two little kids who demand most of my attention, a house that has to get cleaned every once in a while, a Pre-K class to teach, activities to help with at church, mounds of clothes that must get washed, oh, and the management and constant demands of Type 1 Diabetes to deal with. Seriously, who has time to do good?

And then I have to stop and think about the ER doctor in Baton Rouge. I don’t even remember his name, but I still remember his face. We were so tired when we checked into the ER and were sent to a room the day Hugh was diagnosed. The shock and fear must have been written all over our faces. Our son was very, very sick and we were grieving the loss of everything we thought he would be. I think the ER doctor knew that. So he gently and quietly introduced himself and told us they were going to take good care of Hugh. And then he said, “We are going to do this right. He is going to have an entire life lived with needles and pokes and tests, and we are not going to get off to a bad start. We are not going to hold him down kicking and screaming. We will take it slow. We will do it right.” That ER doctor was just doing his job, but to a frightened mom and dad, his words and actions made all the difference. He didn’t have to take the time to talk to us, or exercise patience in a busy ER, or instruct all the nurses not to do anything until Hugh was ready. But he did. He was doing good.

And then I think about the Child Life specialist who came into the room next. She was young and sweet and had a way of talking to kids. She explained to Hugh everything that would happen to him, from the IV needle to the insulin injections. And then she pulled out her Ipad that she had brought from home and let him play games to his hearts content. By the time they put the IV in him he did not even notice. The Child Life Specialist was just doing her job, but she was kind and patient and caring. She was doing good.

And then I think about the pediatric endocrinologist who Scott had spoken to briefly on the phone when her brother was in Scott’s office earlier in the day. She stayed late at the hospital waiting on us that night and made a special trip to the ER to talk with us. I remember her pulling out a paper towel from the dispenser over the sink and drawing a chart on it, slowly and patiently explaining insulin and how it affects the body. She told us everything was going to be ok and that she would take good care of Hugh. She was just doing her job, but she didn’t have to stay late and she certainly didn’t have to meet us in the ER. But she did. She was doing good.

My mind wanders to all the nurses who made Hugh feel like he was the only patient they had that evening. They brought him toys and made a fuss over his cute face and sweet smile. They made a big deal of wheeling him to the pediatric room well after midnight, fashioning a little hat that said “Taxi” out of paper and giving him a stuffed bear to hold. They were just doing their job, but they were doing good.

As we fell into bed that night about 1 AM (Scott on the fold out chair by the window, me squeezed in next to Hugh on the hospital bed), I had no idea the goodness I was about to see. I was scared and lonely and confused, my mind only focused on my son and the fear in my heart.

But even though I couldn’t see it, the goodness was there all along and would follow us home.

My parents and in-laws dropped everything to help us once we were home. Cards flooded our mailbox. We had calls from practically strangers who were the parents of children with Type 1 and they would talk to us for hours, encouraging us and supporting us. I can’t even count how many people told us they were praying for our family, and actually meant it. The goodness kept washing over us like waves rolling into the sand.

Do good? Seriously? How can I not?

If all of these people, many of them we did not know and will never see again, can do good to us, how can I not do good to others?

Hugh brought home a picture he had drawn at school a few weeks ago after his class had read “The Little Engine That Could”. I don’t know about you, but the lesson I always learned from that story was to never give up, even if you are small. Work hard and you can succeed.

But not Hugh. He wrote on his paper that The Little Engine was kind. He learned from the story to be nice.

Of course he did.

How could he not after he has seen all this goodness?

There were a lot of things that ran through my mind the afternoon that Hugh was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. As we rushed around trying to pack and make arrangements for a hospital stay, I was able to hold it together. Squeezing Amelia tight and handing her over to my mom, we jumped in the car and started the 2 hour trip to Baton Rouge. That is when I had time to think.

I could have thought of a lot of people that day as we drove to the hospital. The handful of people we knew with Type 1, Amelia who we had to leave behind for the first time, Hugh singing happily in the back seat not knowing this would be the last “normal” day of his life. But I wasn’t thinking about any of those people.

Who was I thinking about? Shelby.

Any proper Southern girl knows exactly who I am talking about.

My colors are blush and bashful – You’re colors are pink and pink. (Sorry, I just had to quote that line.)

Yes, I was thinking about Shelby from the movie Steel Magnolias, who is a Type 1 Diabetic. More specifically, I was thinking about the scene when Shelby’s blood sugar is low in Truvy’s Beauty Salon and she starts shaking all over. (As much as I love Julia Roberts, that is a horrible portrayal of what actually happens when a diabetic’s blood sugar is low.)

Like any good Southern girl, I had memorized the movie by watching it hundreds of times. And we all know what happens in the end – Shelby dies. Because she did not listen to her Southern Mama and she has a baby, which wrecks her kidneys, and causes her to go into a coma. Even as young girls, we learned from Steel Magnolias that women are strong beyond belief, that all baby boys should be named Jackson, and that we must never break our Mama’s heart like Shelby did.

Except this time I was not the daughter. This time I was M’lynn (the mother). And my heart was breaking, just like M’lynn’s. Suddenly I realized that Steel Magnolias was never about Shelby. It was about M’lynn and how a mother would do anything to protect her children. And though it was never said in the movie, I know M’lynn was thinking the same thing I was that day when her daughter was diagnosed with diabetes.

I wish it were me. Give it to me. I will take the diabetes, if it will spare my child.

If only wishes were granted through sheer will and iron fisted determination . . .

And so we drove on that afternoon, heading toward our scary and uncertain new future. Scott, Hugh, me, and Shelby and M’lynn.

To Be Continued . . .