Last night we celebrated my nephew Max’s 8th birthday. Unfortunately I was in too much pain to be there for the whole party, but I did manage to shuffle downstairs for presents and cake. The festivities were great – the usual gang was there, along with Max’s Mom’s Aunt Margie, Uncle Bob, and their lovely daughter Lauren. The kids were as cute as usual; Max was very careful and thoughtful opening his presents, being sure to thank everyone and show just how much he loved each present. I swear, that kid could be a diplomat. And then there was little Brian, who got a present from the visit Aunt & Uncle – a cute set of Eric Carle’s “Very Hungry Caterpillar” that came with the book and a plush toy of the caterpillar. Brian walked around with that toy all night and had a great time playing various invented games that only a toddler can dream up about a boy and a caterpillar.

    The most interesting part of the evening, however, came later after the children were put to bed. (Naturally, since that’s what every child thinks is going to happen when they’re put to bed, and why they hate being tucked in too early in the evening. At least, that was the beginning of my life-long insomnia.) We were all sitting around the table talking, swapping stories like adults do, when Jen (Max’s Mom) swung around to me and told me a story. It so touched me that afterwards, I got her permission to blog about it here.

    Max has been focusing a great deal on his nightly prayers, and his parents have been working with him to make sure that he really develops a good communicative relationship with God. So they’ve been careful about making sure that he tells God about one thing he did that day, then he asks God for something Max feels is important, and then he tells God about something he’s thankful for. And all of this is said silently to himself, so that his relationship with God is close and very personal. I’d say that’s a nice, well-rounded approach to prayer, especially for a kid of only eight years old.

    He kept up with that every night for several weeks, but Jen started to notice that he was looking a little upset about it, but in a very thoughtful way. One night while they were discussing prayers in general, Max told Jen that he was worried, and that he was starting to think that God just wasn’t answering his prayers. Jen asked him what he meant, and he said that every night he had been asking for his Aunt Heather to get better, but it just wasn’t happening.

    Until that point, I hadn’t realized that my illness could be having such a serious emotional impact on my nephews. I mean, I know that it has significantly altered how my family lives, right down to their day to day activities and all of the things they’ve had to sacrifice on my account. And for all of that I’m extremely grateful. But emotionally, the impact it has on an 8-year-old. I had no idea.

    Max spends a lot of time over at my house, playing, talking, just hanging out. And in a lot of ways I think it’s great for him, to spend time interacting with adults who aren’t authority figures who treat him with respect and talk to him like an intelligent adult (cause in many ways, I think that kid is smarter than all of us.) Lately, though, I had been noticing that Max’s interactions with me were becoming gradually more serious. He’s been talking to me a lot about his worries, asking me a lot of serious questions. But most touching of all, he’d always go out of his way to make sure that every time he was saying good bye, he’d give me a hug and tell me in his cute little Max way, “I hope they find a cure for Dercum’s Disease, Aunt Heather!”

    After he’d walk out the door I’d always smile and think, “Isn’t he a thoughtful child?” I’d think it was something cute, the amazing innocence and hope of a child that they think cures are just around the corner. I didn’t stop to think that it may actually be upsetting him. We all know how brilliant he is, and yet it’s so easy to forget that despite that intelligent beyond his years, he still has the emotions of an eight year old.

    But apparently, he also has the faith of a child, and that can work wonders. He may be afraid that God isn’t answering his prayers, but I know He is. Like that old saying from the Bible, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you can move mountains. Well, Max has been keeping tabs of every time he has asked God to cure me completely, and quite frankly he’s getting upset and frustrated that it hasn’t happened yet. To me, that’s faith that speaks volumes, and what’s more, it says so much about his heart. He may have a brain ten times the size of anyone else’s, but he has a heart to match.

    I’ve been thinking about this all night and all day today, and it made me realize something else. With all of the people who have told me that they’re praying for me, and all of the people of so many faiths who have asked other people in their congregations, temples, and shrines to pray for me, I have an entire interfaith army of individuals sending word to God on my behalf. That combined faith has to be at least the size of a mustard seed, don’t you think? So Max and I will keep on waiting for an answer, because one is bound to come soon, right?