George Thomas Metty’s birth was the culmination of months of worrying, “what is wrong?” Ultrasounds from 20 weeks of pregnancy forward showed a blockage in George’s intestinal tract and a few weeks after his birth, it was discovered that he had a rare genetic condition that left him with misshapen, non-functional vital organs. The prognosis was grim, but he was being cared for by a team of brilliant and caring doctors and nurses. His parents, our son and his wife, were absolute champions of devotion and bravely stayed with George 24/7 for months at the hospital. We all had the privilege of spending so many hours with him, introducing him to true love, the love of God.

When he was about 4 months old, I wrote these thoughts on hope that leads to desperate prayer:

Thousands of faith-filled Christians around the world have heard about and have been talking to God about my grandson George. We are standing in agreement with his parents and asking God to perform a creative miracle in little George’s body. We have been holding on to the words “long” and “strong” as descriptors of the life we are asking the Lord for. 

Without going into too much detail, the organs that perform the most basic function of digesting food are not working in little George’s body. He is living on intravenous fluids that send vitamins, minerals, water, proteins, lipids, and other essentials directly into his bloodstream. What we are praying for is that all of these body parts will come into alignment with the perfect plan of God for the human body. This would require a reconstructive miracle at this point. 

But George cut his first tooth yesterday. At four months old, lying in a world-renowned hospital, with baffled doctors and specialists all around him, he produced a beautiful little white chomper, in a mouth that isn’t expected to chew food. I find that hopeful. It’s like the Lord is saying, “y’all just wait and see what I will do in George!” “No eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined what God has prepared for those who love Him!” (1 Corinthians 2:9, ESV). 

We see this same creative power at work in many places throughout Scripture, events and healings and resurrections. And Jesus told his disciples that they would do the same things He did and more after He ascended into heaven. Let’s just remind ourselves for a moment of just a few of the incredible things God has done:

• The earth stopped turning for a full day so God’s people could defeat the Amorites. (Joshua 10:12-13)

• Dry human bones came to life and became an army of living beings. (Ezekiel 37:4-10)

• Sarah conceived and bore a son at approximately age 90. (Genesis 18:10-14, 21:1-2)

• Jesus turned water into wine, a lot of it. (John 2:1-11)

• Jesus walked on water and calmed the wind.  (Matthew 14:22-33)

• Jesus healed a man born blind, by spitting on the ground and making mud. (John 9:1-12)

That last story, about Jesus healing the blind man…our son, has talked about this scripture a lot during their journey with George. “Who sinned that this man was born blind?” is a question they have also asked themselves. But Jesus’ answer is that the blindness would lead to God’s glory, and that’s why. 

We don’t know the outcome of George’s story. We hope that we will see George live a long and strong life on this earth and bring God glory through his story. But it may be that George’s long and strong life is a heavenly one. His life has already brought glory to God. He is a minor celebrity at the hospital, and everyone who works with him has been prayed for, told about the goodness of God and seen the faith-filled lives of George’s family members and their vast support network. I’ve had at least two hospital employees tell me how George’s mama has prayed for them and how encouraged they were, and amazed that she had any capacity to care for others. 

The medical community working with George has no answers. Everything is trial and error. They are coming to the end of their options. I am sure if Jesus came in to visit, spit in a cup and told the docs to feed it to George, they would think He was crazy. But this is essentially what He did for the blind man. When we look with eyes of faith about something, we are looking to God to provide what seems to be impossible. 

God has given George a tooth. I am praying with all my might that that little tooth will have the pleasure of eating all the watermelon, cherries, peaches, spaghetti, burgers, ice cream and popsicles a kid could ever dream of. 

“Yet among the mature we do impart wisdom, although it is not a wisdom of this age or of the rulers of this age, who are doomed to pass away. But we impart a secret and hidden wisdom of God, which God decreed before the ages for our glory. None of the rulers of this age understood this, for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory. But, as it is written, “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined what God has prepared for those who love him” - these things God has revealed to us through the Spirit. For the Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God. For who knows a person's thoughts except the spirit of that person, which is in him? So also no one comprehends the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. Now we have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we might understand the things freely given us by God. And we impart this in words not taught by human wisdom but taught by the Spirit, interpreting spiritual truths to those who are spiritual. The natural person does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him, and he is not able to understand them because they are spiritually discerned. The spiritual person judges all things but is himself to be judged by no one. “For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” But we have the mind of Christ.” (1 Corinthians 9:6-16, ESV)

George’s last days were a heartwrenching time of herculean medical efforts, constant prayer, and many tears while letting go. Our family gathered many times to hug and comfort one another as we deeply grieved our great loss. But all the while, we were confident that our Jesus was with us, right there grieving with us. Later, in the fall, I penned this:

I was wandering around my yard this afternoon, looking at the stunning oranges, yellows, russets and reds of late autumn, picking up the most beautiful maple and oak leaves, marveling at each one more gorgeous than the others. In the woods alone, I thought about little George, my tenth grandchild, born in January, who passed into the arms of Jesus in June, just 5 months later. I thought about how I would love to show him this beauty, balance him on my hip and talk to him about the Creator. I wondered if he was seeing a whole next-level of color in a heavenly autumn. Maybe Jesus was snuggling him in the crook of his left arm, showing him all of this splendorous color, just spending an afternoon with this little lion of a boy. Doing with Georgie what I wish I could do today. The tears are flowing. 

It’s not always like this; most days I am going about my business, sometimes getting to enjoy my other grandchildren, jumping in leaves with them, playing on a swing, or poking a bonfire with a stick. Chubby little Phoebe, born just a few days after George, is beautiful and growing, learning about her world, too. We get to show it to her, and have the privilege of this life with her and her siblings and cousins. 

It’s amazing how your heart expands with the addition of each child, and how much it can ache when one is lost. On these days, or in these hours when I miss him so much I think my heart will break in two, I look to the skies and wonder, “where does my help come from?” My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. The tears flow, and my throat is tight, but I have a hope that I cling to. I have a Comforter who will listen to my cries, see my tears, and bear that pain with me and I am at peace. 

The kindest people in my life are always asking how I am doing, how my kids are bearing up under the weight and pain of this loss. I just keep saying that we are leaning into each other and sharing the joys and sorrows, the agony and ecstasy. The strengthening of the netting/webbing/bonds between us through grief and loss is hard to explain, and I imagine only those who have suffered profound loss can relate to it. I love when someone wants to hear some little detail about George, lets me brag on him a little bit or talk about what an impact he had in his short life. I love it when that friend just offers a warm hug or is comfortable letting me cry. 

I am not sure I was very skilled at comforting others in their grief before I had a loss this close. I have lost elderly relatives, and even a few friends, but this was different. I still wonder if I can comfort well, but I certainly can imagine the pain others must feel when suffering unimaginable loss. I think I know that everyone needs a hug, a listening ear, a kind or gentle word. 

Wisdom has been speaking in this year, too. I have taken my days and commitments very slowly; I’ve stayed home a lot and let my thoughts linger on what is beautiful even if it is sad. I’ve let my friends and family be near. I’ve avoided situations and conversations that require too much emotional energy that I just don’t have. 

I have learned to guard my heart when it comes to what I allow in. I shut off an interesting podcast when it began to venture onto the subject of childhood death. We had to cut a movie short because the main character was dying from cancer and it was just hitting too close to home and I was sobbing uncontrollably. 

I delight in the beauty of the babies I know around George’s age. I often think of how he would be pulling up and starting to crawl now, like his cousin Phoebe. This doesn’t hurt, but brings me tremendous joy. In those moments I miss him, but I am at peace and feel very thankful for the family I have with me now. 

And my longing for Heaven is greater than it has ever been. I see myself on a path in that direction. I’m a grandmother, in my sixties now, and I know that my 4000 weeks is dwindling down. I am not dreading it. I am joyful about the prospect of heaven. I saw our little George pass into eternity and go before all of us. This feels so unnatural, but it is also a comfort to imagine him running to meet me when I arrive at my permanent home. “Nana, come see! You’ve never seen orange leaves like these!”