Jonathan’S Miracle: A Mother’S Love, a Mother’S Loss, and God’S Faithfulness

By Laurie E. White

For every parent who has loved with every fiber of their being lost,
and never imagined they could survive.
For anyone yearning to know
How could God possibly bring good out of this?

Laurie E White tells the story of her son in Jonathans Miracle.

Jonathan arrived bringing hope and joy to a family in turmoil. Over the next ten years he wove his way into the hearts of each member of that family and all who knew him. Then, one morning Laurie and her husband received a frantic phone call at work: Jonathan was choking. For the next seventeen days he lay unconscious in the hospital, while family, friends and strangers prayed for a miracle.

Jonathans Miracle invites you to travel the journey with her. Along the way she shares her personal journal writings, and original poems, borne from a mothers heart, as she copes with tragedy, trust, acceptance, and beginning to live again.

What is it like to lose a child?
It is like finding out the sun isn't going to rise tomorrow;
That the whole earth has been turned off its axis.
It is like waking up to find every pine tree a shade of purple
Every daisy, black
You will hope, you will cry, you will see Gods faithfulness.
And you will experience Jonathans Miracle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Feb 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781462408771

Laurie E. White

Laurie E. White and her husband call upstate New York home, though they spend most of their time on the road as professional truck drivers. During their travels they look forward to time off visiting their children, grandchildren, extended family and friends.

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Copyright © 2014 Laurie E. White.

Cover photo/portrait credit: Tim Shaffer

Cover Photo/rainbow background: Laurie E White

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Inspiring Voices books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

Inspiring Voices

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.inspiringvoices.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4624-0876-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4624-0877-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014900596

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 02/21/2014

This book is dedicated to:

My Heavenly Father, who broke into my prison with arms of love. Who has shown me the power of his ability to see me through anything, and who hasn’t stopped revealing His love to me since.

My husband, David, your smile never ceases to warm me; your faithfulness to our family has always been sure. You are amazing. Your strength and compassion throughout this ordeal were unending.

I love you.

Our children, Daniel, Christopher, Peter, Zachary, Cheryl, Ashley, Melanie, Michael, and Jonathan: who gave meaning to my life. Who have acted as mirrors, taught me about myself, and at times, jolted me into change. Whom I have grown to love as persons, not objects. Just as there is a place in my heart that fits only Jonathan, there is a place that only fits each of you.

You are my treasure.

And especially Jonathan, who brought out the best in us. Who painted beautiful colors in each of our lives that will never fade;

You will always be a part of us.

We will love you, always.

This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope.

It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed,

because his compassions fail not.

They are new every morning:

Great is thy faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:21–23

Contents

List of Photographs

Preface

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Epilogue

About the Author

Resources

Photographs

Jonathan, Age 9 (Tim Shaffer Photographer)

Part One:

Jonathan, Age 1

Part Two:

Collage 1:

Family, 1993 (Portrait by Lifetouch)

Baby Jonathan

Jonathan and Michael

Collage 2:

Jonathan, Age 3 (Portrait by Lifetouch)

Jonathan, Age 15 months, pushing the hay wagon (thought he was pushing the wagon!)

Jonathan, Age 1, and Peter

Jonathan, Age 9, Little League

Collage 3:

Feather from Jonathan and Zachary’s Turkey (story in Part One)

Jonathan’s stuffed animals and beloved baseball cap signed by The Anchormen

Jonathan holding teddy bear, Age 5

Jonathan, Age 10

Part Three

Baptism and Birth Card, as displayed at his Memorial Services

Family, fall 2001 portrait at Aunt Eleanor’s wedding (Notice Jonathan is holding a balloon!)

Part Four

Jonathan’s English Paper

Epilogue

Collage:

Baby Jonathan and Great Grandpa, Fred White

Jonathan’s School Portrait, 2001 (Tim Shaffer Photographer)

Preface

In July 1991, our youngest child, Jonathan, was born. Ten years later, we spent seventeen days in a hospital, hoping and praying… believing for a miracle for our beloved Jonathan.

I am Jonathan’s mom. This is my story.

It is important to understand that I am not a Bible scholar. It is my habit to simply open the Bible anywhere and read until something hits me. Then I write it down in my journal and ponder it. Sometimes I comment on the verse, and sometimes I write whatever is on my mind. Day after day, I find comfort, direction, and sometimes admonishment. Often there is a personal assurance of His love; every day there is something pertinent to my life. Over the years, God has used this simple routine as one of the ways He proves his faithfulness.

The compilation of this book spans approximately one year. Oddly enough, once the manuscript seemed complete, God led me to a scripture that seemed to indicate that I was to put it aside, that it was not for now. I was sure I had misunderstood that message! But the following years bore that out. Ten years later, there came a time when I felt the nudge, opened it up, and knew it was time to see it through to completion.

Everything I wrote in my journal while in the hospital with Jonathan is contained in this story. These journal entries were written in the pain and shock of the moment, and I did not edit them any more than was absolutely necessary.

All scriptures quoted in my journal entries were found by just opening the Bible and letting God speak to my heart.

Acknowledgments

I am so grateful to the many people who have encouraged and assisted me in the writing of this book, among them:

My sister Jennifer, who taught me valuable lessons about writing. My niece Rebecca, who lent her artistic, editing and technical computer expertise, and my nephew Jonathan, who was always ready with hugs!

My sister Shelley, for her critique, advice, and support.

My cousin Cheryl, (my daughter’s namesake) for knowing what I wanted to say and not being satisfied until I had said it…

My sister in law Julie, for a fresh eye and final approval, and my niece Brianne for her great ideas.

My brother-in-law, Bryan, who patiently helped me get acquainted with the computer.

My friend Jackie, for her insight, and for always being there… even at two o’clock in the morning!

My friend Terry, who saw Jonathan into the world, prayed for me at his Memorial service, and whose spiritual walk has always inspired me.

Anita, for being faithful to listen to the Holy Spirit’s leading.

And to my husband David, who, in the course of our vocation as truck drivers, has encouraged me, listened, and cheerfully turned the radio off and endured miles and miles of silent driving while I worked on the final copy.

And most of all, my children:

To my daughter Ashley, who in the midst of college courses and young family took the time to pour her heart out and introduce you to Jonathan.

To my daughter Cheryl, for her poem, artwork, and creative eye. Each part of the book is denoted by a graphic derived from a drawing Cheryl made when I first wrote the book: Part I; the heart of course stands for love. Here we meet Jonathan and the family. Part II; the cross represents the trial and sorrow of Jonathan’s accident and the days in the hospital. Part III; the rainbow represents learning to live without Jonathan. The colors of a rainbow representing the range of emotions; sorrow and laughter, good days and bad days, ups and downs. Then, the original drawing illustrates Part IV beautifully; representing moving past the pain and sorrow into life again, and also as a visual of our trials bringing us to know God’s love more fully…

To all my children, for allowing me to devote so much time to the original writing… and for helping me in this final phase by sharing their thoughts and hearts to help me portray our Jonathan.

Once again, Jonathan has been a ‘Golden Cord’ drawing us together.

This is my story … but in many ways, it is our book, because it was our sorrow and he was… and is, our Jonathan.

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Introduction

My Brother Jonathan

Senseless secrets, pointless arguments, tattles told, imaginary monsters fought; these are a few of the countless memories shared between siblings. Growing up in a home with many children, I never lacked a playmate. From playing in mud puddles with Tonka trucks and Barbies to playing in our grandfather’s grain bin, the days were filled with many new memories. True, there were days when we all seemed incapable of being in agreement, but the days of secrets and good times outnumbered them by far.

Jonathan was always imaginative. Each day there would be a new adventure: we would whittle sticks to spear-like points to fight the cowboy while playing cowboys and Indians. There was Rusty, the pretend pet dog that lived with us in our tree fort, fashioned out of an old object found in the shed. Every summer we were left a corner in the garden, and each summer we dug a deeper hole, convinced that one day we would reach China!

In time, many of my memories have faded, and now I am lucky to just remember little blips. However, there is one that sticks in my mind clearly: that day the summer before he passed, when I had taken his popgun and the poppers for it and used them all. Of course he found me and ran to tell Mom. I had followed him in and sat there, waiting for her to get off the phone, knowing I was going to be in serious trouble. But before she was done talking, Jonathan came over and asked me to go play with him. He never once said anything about me taking his stuff and acted like it had never happened. When I think back on all of the many times we shared in our ten years together, none other expresses Jonathan’s heart to me so well. He was a mama’s boy, but he was also a forgiving, loving brother, who wanted to spend time with me more than make sure I got retribution for stealing his belongings. That was Jonathan.

By Ashley (White) Williams

PartITitlepageel.jpg

Jonathan

Baby innocence, matchless joy,

Brought to my world through you, little boy.

Carving your presence into my heart,

Enabling me to make a new start.

Perfection? No, just little boy.

But somehow in you, my life restored.

God’s plan, a wonder for all to see,

I needed you most when you needed me.

Your life, a child’s, filled with little boy things:

Trucks, tractors, and childhood dreams.

Baseball, soccer, and basketball.

Swimming, biking—you did them all.

Cookies and ice cream, soda, and more,

A child on earth, the signs you bore.

But within you, God found, a heart prepared,

In childlike faith for the one waiting there.

Jesus, we knew, was your best friend;

For you, no question of believing in Him.

You took it for granted He was who He said.

Such an innocent heart for whom Christ bled.

Jonathan, my baby, my little boy,

You brought to me unspeakable joy,

And turned my whole life upside down,

For in your love, God’s love I found.

By Laurie E. White

3BabybeginningPartOne.jpg

Jonathan

My sister called him a miracle baby. I was on birth control when he was conceived and attempted suicide when I was six months pregnant. But Jonathan must have been destined to accomplish his work here; he arrived early one morning, my smallest baby at nine pounds two ounces, perfectly healthy and not too happy.

My dear friend Terry coached me during labor. At the moment I gave birth, a floodgate of emotions from a tumultuous previous year opened, and all I could do was cry.

There was Jonathan. They had laid him in the little bassinet.

Terry, hold him, I pleaded. He needs to be held.

Terry, a mother of two, understood. She quickly went over, picked Jonathan up, and cradled him in her arms, smiling and crooning to welcome him.

Slowly the storm subsided, and my heart was ready for the new little bundle of life.

Terry put Jonathan in my arms, and from that moment, he began to minister to me.

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A year and a half earlier, my husband and I had bought a house and moved our family of six to a new town in Vermont. This was to be the culmination of my childhood dreams. I was convinced that with a home of our own to settle into we could be the good Christian family I’d always dreamed we’d be: I would bake cookies for the neighbors, we’d go to church on Sundays, and our home would be a haven for the distraught.

All I had ever wanted was to be a homemaker, a wife, and a mother—a real life Mama Walton. Growing up, I was always caring for several children (dolls) at once. When my sisters grew up and heartlessly abandoned their children (dolls), I brought them into the fold.

By the time I was twenty I had married prince charming, and my first child had arrived. Three more children followed at approximately two year intervals. I loved them with all the passion of a young mother intent on fulfilling her calling in life. But in spite of my earlier doll-training, it wasn’t the rosy scenario I had imagined. My own parents had been divorced, my father largely absent, and my mother struggling to cope alone. Though I knew she loved me, she was distant and unavailable. I felt lonely and insecure, and I was unaware that I carried these unresolved emotions into adulthood.

Consequently, motherhood became my identity. But I was unprepared for my own sweet little babies to have minds of their own, and found it hard to relate to them as individuals apart from me. When