Silence can be good. Silence can be not-so-good. My recent silence was a survival method. I pushed all commitments, appointments, and other necessities aside until after our successful Rebecca’s Wish Gala. It was important to focus on taking care of our pancreas children and ensuring a brighter future for them, but in the process of pushing everything aside, all our medical issues flooded over us with a deluge of suppressed emotions.

During the last 7 weeks we were submerged in medical drama layered with appointments, scans and conflicting opinions from various surgeons. Suffice it to say, the Taylor family could use support and prayers now more than ever.

Nicholas’ tumor unfortunately did grow in the 6 weeks between MRI scans, but it has not metastasized. Until the tumor is removed, we have no definitive way of knowing whether it is cancerous or not. A third MRI will be performed next week and a final decision will be made as to his surgical timing. One surgeon wants to carefully monitor and wait until Nicholas becomes hydrocephalic to remove his tumor. The rationalization is for Nicholas to enjoy quality of life without the long term hinderances of potential after-surgery effects for as long as possible. This tumor could be monitored carefully, and we could wait on the surgery for months (or longer). But this decision would mean a very different lifestyle for Nicholas including staying in a close vicinity to home (Texas) in case the tumor completely blocks his ventricle.

The second surgeon wants to remove Nicholas’ tumor immediately. His rationalization, “Why waste a gift of finding an incidental tumor so early? This can potentially be removed before its invasive tentacles move to other portions of Nicholas’ healthy brain”. Both surgeons invoked the statement: “This is what I would do if it were my son.” Needless to say, we are a bit confused as to how to proceed.

As a mother, I see both surgeons’ perspectives but ultimately, Nicholas is an adult and will make the final decision. Only God knows which direction is best.



I never met a child more in tune with hearing from the Lord than Nicholas Brian Taylor. From a young toddler, he would stay up late at night conversing with God. In the morning, he would give a report on his discussions, many of which turned out to be quite prophetic. When he was in preschool, Nicholas would stop the teacher at snack time to say long, elaborate prayers for his classmates before eating Cheerios. Because why wouldn’t Cheerios eating necessitate a blessing??

Famous for his prayers by the mere age of 4, Nicholas was asked to give the lead prayer for a very large church gathering with all the classes and church leaders in attendance. Nicholas’ delivered a heartfelt prayer where he asked God to please let all the sick children in the world die. Yes, my son prayed for all the sick children to DIE. The director came up to him afterward and said, “Nicholas, did you mean to ask for the sick children to get well?” Nicholas responded, “No, why would they want to stay sick on earth when they could just go to heaven?” 

Bless.

Needless to say, Nicholas is strong in his faith and walks in truth, loyally protecting his loved ones. He stands up for the weak and does not tolerate those hurting others. There is no question our son walks with his God. But how does one who walks with God react when they enter their own crises?

One of Nicholas and my favorite pastimes together is hiking – goodness knows I could never keep up with my boys in sports, so we developed this love of hiking which became “our thing”. Both of us feel and see our Creator through His nature – every other minute we comment on the unique fern fronds or the way the clouds overlap the sun. We see the Lord everywhere on our trails. 

On the morning before Nicholas’ neurosurgeon appointment, we decided to go on a hike to settle our disquieted minds. While walking up a ridge, Nicholas said, “Momma, I need you to know I have spent time talking to God and have come to terms with my diagnosis. I am truly at peace no matter what the outcome of this tumor. I want God to use this illness in whatever way He needs to for His glory. Even if I am not healed.”

I froze with his words. They rolled off his tongue with such ease, like he was ordering lunch from a menu, or giving his address to a friend. It was a perfect complement of trust and courage…. 

And it terrified me.

I wanted to be a pillar strength for my child – that was my job as his mother, but I could not pretend my spirit was in sync with his words. Son, I am not ready to accept what you are saying. It’s too much. I just can’t.

You see, I need the guarantee of a good prognosis, the guarantee of a good outcome and the guarantee for my son to live a long and prosperous life. Although I rationally know I have zero promises regarding any of these scenarios, I convince myself I must have that guarantee to continue my full journey of faith. But if the last 14 years have taught me anything, I should know I can wish and hope and pray and calculate and plan and research all I want and yet ultimately, my son’s fate rests firmly in God’s hands. Any illusion to me orchestrating my own outcome is a complete farce. Just as I had no control in healing my daughter’s illness, I have no control to heal my son. My God is in charge whether I acknowledge His authority or not.  

Living in the world of pancreatitis, I have a front row seat watching children in pain, trauma and even death. As much as I loathe to admit it, witnessing years of “unanswered prayers” reveals a destructive layer of cynicism buried deep within me. Is my want for a guarantee that Nicholas has a favorable outcome understandable? Of course. But is it helpful? Not so much. My focus is faulty – it rides on the assuredness for the health and wealth of this world which clouds my spiritual vision. And that blurred vision impedes me from seeing my God clearly.

The Lord used my son on our hike to restore my sight. Nicholas’ words became the glasses I needed so I could view our struggle with a heavenly perspective. And when I saw his point of view, tears of acceptance flowed. My son’s immeasurable faith restored in me what I was lacking.

Seeing my tears, Nicholas buried my face into his chest and wrapped his twice-as-long-arms around back comforting me, “It is okay Mama, it’s okay. God’s got this. God’s got this.”  And I knew my son was right. For better or worse, whatever the outcome, God’s got this.

Thank you Lord for maturing a mother’s faith through the Son. And thank you for your continued prayers on behalf of our family.

“One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!” John 9:25.

Love to each of you,

C

Pictures from a few of our hikes together.