Late last week, the book of Job was brought to mind again as I was introduced to Tripp Roth. A friend on Facebook posted the link to Courtney Roth's blog about being a mommy to her son, Tripp. This is a young woman in the prime of her life--enjoying being a wife and excited about the arrival of her son. I encourage you to check out her blog, starting with Tripp's Story. Within hours of his birth, Courtney and her husband, Randy, were told that he suffered from Epidermolysis Bullosa. Basically his skin was so thin that any contact with it would result in painful blisters to form. After discussing his case with various doctors and running numerous tests--all of which caused Tripp's skin to blister and tear--it became apparent that Tripp had a fatal case of EB and would be lucky to reach his 2nd birthday.
Tripp died on January 14, at 2 years and 8 months old. A recent visit to an expert revealed that with less care than his mother had given him, he would likely have died around his first birthday. He should have died then. Instead, his mother, who had never held her son skin to skin in her arms, never crushed him into her hug, never played tickle games, never smothered his face in kisses, committed her life to caring for her son. Her marriage to Tripp's father suffered and ended. She moved in with her parents, where her mother could help her with full time care. She spent 2 years and 8 months wrapping her son in a blanket, coaxing him to eat, sedating him to give him baths because the pain was so intense, watching her son's eyes fuse shut. She spent 2 years and 8 months knowing her son was in constant pain and knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it. And she spent 2 years and 8 months thanking God for every breath her son took, every drum beat she listened to him play, every smile he offered.
Her blog and Facebook page have allowed us a glimpse into her pain and inspiration from the care that she took of a little boy medical professionals and others told her she would be justified to leave in a hospital bed where she would visit from time to time. Or nurses could have bathed him in her home. She could have saved her marriage--after all, she knew her son's condition was fatal. Instead, she stayed by his side. Why? Because he was her son. She was his mother. He was her gift from God.
By the time that I discovered her blog and met Tripp, Courtney knew that his short life was ending. She rejoiced that he would soon be pain free, that his first skin to skin contact would be with Jesus Christ, God made flesh. God with torn flesh. And she asked that the ending would be peaceful--for Tripp, for her, and for her family. That's what we prayed for.
On Saturday, shortly after her only son took his final breaths wrapped snugly in a blanket in her arms, she wrote that heaven had a new drummer boy. She wrote of her broken heart and her grief. And then she wrote, "Please don't forget to thank God for the PEACE we prayed to him for."
Who does that? So few of us even remember to thank God for answered prayer in the best of times. Yet, here was a grieving mother, reminding us to thank God for answering our prayers. Courtney understood--and shared in her 2011 Christmas card to all of her blog followers--what Job knew. I can only pray that I know it, too. Especially when it matters most.
"Should we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity?" Job 2:10
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