Two Minutes: Troy
“Two minutes” That is the answer that my two-year-old Cal has been giving me for the past year. This answer usually comes when I tell him that it is time for bed, or time to turn off a show. “Two minutes”. We have tried to explain to him that he doesn’t really know how long two minutes is. If he knew that it was only 120 seconds, he might be a little ticked off. We tell him that if he really understood time, he would ask for 10 or even 30 more minutes, but two minutes is all I ever hear, he just wants two more minutes.
Two more minutes to continue feeling the way he is feeling at that moment. All bundled up next to his Mimi, drinking a chocolate protein shake that Steph made him, watching the same episode of Scooby Doo for the millionth time, because in that moment he knows what to expect. In that moment, he feels safe, he feels at peace. It doesn’t matter how much longer this moment lasts, for Cali, it just has to last a little bit longer, “two minutes”.
I remember when we had no answers for Jett. I remember after every doctor’s appointment; Steph and I would drive home with so many more questions than answers. The car rides would almost be silent behind tear filled eyes and an overwhelming feeling of guilt. I don’t really know why we have these feelings that we do. I knew that there was nothing that I could have done to make anything easier in those moments and yet I still felt guilty. Guilty that I didn’t have more to say to Steph. I felt guilty that our world seemed to be crumbling before our very eyes and there was nothing that I could do or say that could comfort us. I remember thinking if we could only find answers, we would know what was happening and then we could start to be okay.
And then the answer came, and I was not okay. I was collecting eggs from a chicken coup when I got the call from Steph. (No, it’s not our chicken coup so don’t get too excited.) She was crying already and started to explain to me that Jett had CHAMP1. I told her that everything was going to be okay, even though I had no idea what was about to unfold and then we got off the phone. I just stood there and cried. Didn’t really know how to process the information and so I just cried. It was just me, a bunch of chickens, and one really mean rooster, crying.
I prayed for so many months that we would find out more answers to our questions and once we got them, I didn’t really want them. When Jett still wasn’t diagnosed yet, I was able to hang on to this belief that nothing was wrong with Jett, that maybe he was just really delayed because of ‘A’ ‘B’ and ‘C’ and he would eventually catch up. This diagnosis put that feeling to rest forever. After the diagnosis, I remember feeling like I lost something. I lost the vision that I had for my family. I lost the thought of my two sons playing sports together on the same teams growing up. I lost my vision and I wanted two minutes.
What I am learning is that my version of my story sucks. My version doesn’t actually have my family’s best interest in mind, because my version can only see the last two minutes. I am learning that God’s version is so much better than anything I could have ever dreamed of. The want I have for two more minutes is only because I do not know what the next two minutes will bring. The next two minutes will be part of God’s plan and they will be infinitely better than what I could have done on my own.
Philippians 4:4-7 “Rejoice in the Lord always; again, I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”