I've talked about them before, and suppose with a longer period of time, my memory may fade. For now, I remember.

For weeks we lived 44 steps from him. Perhaps it is strange to count the steps you are taking. I know that during our journey we took that trip hundreds of times. Many times a day, we left our small cubicle bedroom and headed to see him.

Each trip was filled with anticipation. Each trip taught us more about what it meant to truly Prayer Walk. We found ourselves seeking hope in the eyes of the medical staff. Some of them have learned this over the course of their careers, and they to don their "poker face" while at work. Some of them, as they got to know us, let down their guard a bit.

Our journey had become their journey. We walked it hand in hand, each longing for the same outcome. Their hope was tempered by knowledge we did not have, education we did not get in the field of medicine.

We looked to them for cues on how things were going. We saw many families do likewise. That is a lot of pressure. I do not believe I could do that day after day. I would not know how to "leave it at the office." I simply know I continue to be most thankful for each of them.

Cumulatively, the hours we spent making that short jaunt were filled with wonder, with desire, even desperation. I can still see the hallways, the doors, the white lab coats, the scrubs of different colors, and the paraphanalia. I never saw so much medical stuff. All of it seemed to be stored for use in room 2001.

The shower just a handful of steps from our room also replays in my mind. That room echoed, but it was the one place I could let go of all pretense and emotion. I stood in the shower and tried to allow the water to wash away this plight. I poured out my heart to my Lord in that place. I entered knowing it would be alone time for just the two of us. Some days I wanted to lay on the cold tile floor and just let go, but knowing it would reverberate out into the hall kept me from it.

At least in the shower, the water would force the anguish toward the drain.

Hope was our constant companion. 44 steps were taken day after day, week after week, each time fruitful in their delivery. He always layed there waiting. At least we could touch him. Stroke his hair, and talk sofly in his ear while simultaneously watching the monitors for signs that the conversation was heard or stimulated him, somehow.

Perhaps the steps were counted out of boredom, or monotony. Perhaps they were counted so we would always remember to be thankful that we were afforded the privilege of staying so close by for so long. Perhaps they were counted simply to remind us, that the number never matters, but our faithfulness does.

Because of His strength, we were able to number those steps each time. Not that we always counted, but we were always aware of His abiding presence with us. We learned that no matter what was in the eyes or on the faces of those who were "in the know," the only eyes that really mattered were His. For they were always on us, and they provided for our every need.

At times the pain was too great, and the journey too long, or so we thought. At times the journey too difficult so that "we despaired even of life" (2 Cor. 1:8). He never left us. We were never forsaken. He abides even today.

Our steps were numbered that we might realize it is not about the number of steps, but about what we do with the steps we are afforded! Glory to the Living God!

BJ had at least 44 less steps than we did, yet look at the Glory our Father in Heaven has received!

Praise Him, Praise Him, all ye little children, God is Love, God is Love!

dad