Hope Remains: Seeing the Goodness of God in the Shadow of Suffering

By Reppard Gordon and Summer Gordon

What would you do if the unthinkable happened? 

Where would you find the strength to endure?

The Gordon family was confronted with that very challenge when their five-year-old son, Sawyer, known for his big blue eyes and vivacious spirit, cheerfully pedaled his bike onto their busy road. Moments

• Language: English
• Publisher: I See Em, LLC
• Release date: Jan 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736040713

Book preview

Foreword

This book is written from a two-part, husband and wife perspective, in hopes that both perspectives will encourage the reader as we collectively fix our eyes on the eternal.

A third voice (Casey’s) occasionally enters into the mix in order to depict the intensity of the struggle.

To accurately depict how precious Sawyer was, and the sheer joy that he brought to those around him, seems like an insurmountable feat. We struggle speaking of Sawyer in the past tense because we firmly believe that he is more alive than ever, but in an effort not to confuse the reader, we’ll refer to him in the past tense.

Introduction

Florida Storm

Summer

Having both grown up in the sunshine state, my husband, Reppard, and I are not strangers to the fierceness of a Florida thunderstorm. We recognize the signs when an upward glance reveals dark threatening clouds, when thunder rolls with fury across the open skies, and the wind and rain are relentless. This is familiar, predictable. This, we know.

Even the violent cracks of lightning, slicing through the sky, don’t often startle us. Frequently, we'll settle in on our back-porch swing, watching the wrath of a strong summer storm from a place of safety. There’s something soothing about taking it all in, having a protected front-row seat to sheets of heavy rain pouring down to the earth.

Florida storms are known for changing the landscape along our coastlines. Shells of every color can be seen scattered across the sand at the tideline. The clouds part and the first glimpse of the sun’s rays shine down, highlighting sand that has been taken to unfamiliar places. As the sky, once again, clothes itself in hues of blue, a rainbow peeks through the clouds, serving as a reminder of the paradox of storms.

Storms often leave destruction in their path, but following destruction comes opportunity for new growth and beauty. The refining that could crush or polish shells is the same refining that paves the way for renewed landscape. Life’s storms, we’ve found, are much the same.

One August afternoon, my husband and I faced the worst storm of our lives. The storm we faced brought heart-wrenching loss, but its end fixed our hearts on a hope that remains.

It was a typical Monday morning of errands, appointments, and friends. Our agenda for the day held the first-ever dental appointment for Sawyer, our five-year-old son, and later, a lunch date with precious friends. I had previously delayed the visit to the dentist due to Sawyer’s sensory deficits, but the day had arrived, and I assumed it would be a challenging experience. In an effort to make things as easy as possible for Sawyer, we arrived at the dentist’s office early. Waiting in the car, killing time, I decided to lighten the mood and snap a few photos.

Sawyer, gimme a kiss, I smiled to my tow-headed boy, who was happily playing beside me.

Sawyer, hands filled with Legos, moved toward me and adoringly obliged. The kiss was forever captured on my phone. The moment sealed. Goodness, I love this boy.

As we entered the dental office, I silently reflected at how pleased I was that the morning was off to such a decent start. When they requested x-rays of Sawyer’s little teeth, apprehension filled my heart. It had only been the week before when he’d had a procedure requiring him to have barium in his nose with x-rays taken. What a traumatic experience for my Sawyer. I thought back to that chilly, dark room with its humming machines and voices of numerous unknown technicians. My little man had been frightened. Crying out, he reached for me from across the room. I wanted so much to protect him. I knew the machine wasn’t hurting him, but that his heart was scared.

Here he was, just a week later with another x-ray machine looming. As I feared, the dental x-rays were a bust. Oh well, our day would still be okay, I tried to concede. Then the dentist announced that Sawyer had a cavity.

We’ll need to fix the cavity, so it doesn’t damage the permanent tooth, the dentist began. I’d recommend IV sedation for the procedure, she continued as Sawyer and I sat together. Why can’t anything come easy for my little man? my heart cried. Discouraged, we made the necessary appointments and left the office.

Hoping to still redeem the day, we headed to our lunch date with a favorite friend and her children. Summer rain had been pouring down heavily all morning. As we pulled into the local soda shop, I realized we would need to make a run for it. Ready, buddy? I scooped Sawyer up and we dashed across the puddled lot while rain poured down. Once inside, Sawyer climbed up next to our friend, Mrs. Connie, and asked for a grilled cheese sandwich. Spotting a yellow Matchbox car left behind by another customer, he smiled and quickly claimed it for himself. Grasping it with his chubby little fingers, he contentedly drove the car along the edge of the table, entertaining himself while we ate lunch.

Several hours later, with a few extra children in tow, I pulled the SUV into our long driveway. I paused after pulling through the gate, weighing whether or not I should get out in the torrential rain to close the manual gate to our driveway, as was my usual habit. I quickly decided there was no need to get out in the rain and drove up to the house, leaving the gate wide open. After all, the kids would be inside playing anyway, I thought.

An hour later, my house was still filled with the noisy laughter and chatter of five children wrestling and sword fighting their little hearts out. My 15-year-old foster daughter and I were in the back of the house working on a project together when I looked out the window and noticed the rain had finally stopped.

Y’all, go out and shut the gate! I hollered out to the big kids, only to be ignored while they continued, intensely engaged in their sword fight. Oh well, I’ll go out and shut it later. Sawyer strolled into the room where we were working to get the inside scoop on what was going on. Noticing he needed a diaper change, I scooped him up in my arms, settled him on my hip, and carried him to his room. As he lay on the changing table, his tiny voice asked a question that he had heard me attest a million times before, Mama loves you?

Mama loves you! I smiled and enthusiastically affirmed him once again. I kissed him on top of his blond head, swept him off the table, and planted him on the floor. Off he went in a hurry to play with the other children.

It would be mere minutes before my family and I were hurled into the fury of a storm like we never had experienced before.

1

Sawyer

Moments are funny things. Tiny slivers of time that pierce our senses so profoundly, they create emotional responses. These emotional responses sear into our minds, making memories. Memories define our stories, and our stories all begin with moments.

Summer

Sawyer’s story began on Sunday, February 27, 2011. I found myself hooked up to monitoring devices in the local maternity ward. Suddenly, our baby’s heart rate dropped.

Well, he just bought himself an induction, the nurse announced. This began Sawyer’s entry into the world.

Thankfully, my labor was easy. Three pushes and our precious Sawyer quietly entered the world and our hearts.

Yes, he entered quietly. His lack of crying concerned me. That moment could be a model for the rest of his life because that little stinker worried me from his first breath.

Is he ok? Is he ok? I remember frantically asking. No one answered me. I didn’t know it right away, but they were intently working to help him breathe due to meconium.

Waaaaah, his sweet cry suddenly echoed from across the room, relief washing over me. It was the best sound in the whole entire world at that moment.

Reppard

Sawdog. My little man was set apart from the first hello to the final goodbye. Sawyer was a beautiful baby. Don’t get me wrong, all our children are beautiful and were gorgeous babies, thankfully taking after their mama, but Sawyer was radiant! His blue eyes were piercing! His lashes screamed Covergirl mascara envy. With a slight wave, his hair was white blond. His little lips seemed permanently puckered and ready for our kisses. Though Sawyer had many beautiful features, by far my favorite was his precious little nose. Having a rather large nose myself, I recognize and appreciate a perfectly shaped nose. I was specifically drawn to the space where the bridge of his nose met his eyes. I found myself having to kiss him there often. The ratio of kisses I planted on that boy doesn’t begin to compare to those of his mother, but that spot on his nose probably received the bulk of my kisses.

Summer

As an infant, Sawyer was content to sit on the sidelines and watch. Social from the get-go, his eyes would light up whenever anyone came around. And those eyes of his, sparkling and crystal blue, were strikingly beautiful. Almond shaped, they were framed by lashes long enough to make any woman jealous. Not only were his eyes captivating, but they were incredibly expressive as well. Those eyes just seemed to smile at you.

Sawyer also had the most gorgeous head full of wavy golden hair. It shined in the sunlight with a precious double cowlick in the back. I often found myself affectionately combing through his hair with my fingers. With the cutest button nose, slight cleft chin, and a faint dimple that could be seen in just the right light, Sawyer was an eye catcher for sure.

Although it took Sawyer longer to reach milestones, I chalked it up to him being the baby of the family. He had older siblings around to do every little thing for him. At his one-year check-up, our pediatrician commented that he thought our little Sawyer might be more than a late bloomer and wrote a referral for a therapy evaluation.

Following the evaluation, we immediately began therapy services in our home, which then evolved into services outside of our home. Participating in nearly every therapy under the sun (occupational, speech, and equine-assisted therapy, to name a few), Sawyer faced each obstacle with sheer joy! In fact, I can’t think of a more appropriate word to describe Sawyer. He was absolute JOY.

Being able to stay at home with our children was an immeasurable blessing that I’m even more thankful for today. We could often be found at the park, laughing, as we rode together down the bumpy slide or as I swung with Sawyer, higher and higher, in my lap. In the summertime, we’d drive 20 minutes to the beach, just to watch Sawyer eat sand by the fistfuls and feed the seagulls, cackling with laughter as they swooped down to visit us. I didn’t realize during that busy and seemingly mundane season of life, I was receiving a priceless gift—so many precious memories forever seared into my mind.

Reppard

I was never a big fan of labels. As a child, I struggled with Tourette’s Syndrome. More specifically, my parents and those around me struggled with my Tourette’s Syndrome. The symptoms subsided dramatically by the time I finished middle school, but initially it was a difficult road for my parents. For the longest time, my parents just figured it was behavioral. Don’t get me wrong, I was a holy terror of a strong-willed child, but the root of my Tourette’s was not behavioral. It was a legitimate neurological challenge. It took a whole lot of doctor appointments before I finally had a diagnosis. Thankfully, my parents, and most other people, just treated me like a regular kid. I am so grateful they didn’t allow my diagnosis to become a crutch.

Sawyer had a label too: Developmental Delay. I knew nothing about his label. It really took the first two or three years of his life for it to sink in, along with a whole lot of education from Summer and his therapists. To be honest, his delays seemed like an elongated baby phase. As most parents know, those years typically fly by, and we had an extra opportunity to savor that stage with Sawyer. As an optimist, I considered that a blessing.

Among Sawyer’s struggles were potty training and chronic constipation. Despite our fervent efforts, he struggled his entire life with constipation. He was such a happy-go-lucky kid that it broke our hearts to see him experience such severe stomach pain. Summer left no stone unturned in trying to help him. Acupuncture, natural supplements, medication, dietary changes, medical testing: you name it, and I’m quite sure she tried it. Sometimes something would work, and we would become so hopeful, only for his body to figure out a way around our new trick, leaving us back at square one. What a roller coaster!

Sawyer was also a very restless sleeper. Each evening, he would compliantly pad off to bed. We would read books, cuddle, pray, and then he would be off to sleep. Only he didn’t sleep. He’d thrash and turn restlessly for hours. Finally, he’d drift off, only to wake up crying in the middle of the night, every single night. Summer would rush in, comforting him until he was pacified and had fallen back asleep. In the wee morning hours, he would groggily shuffle his chubby little feet along our wooden floor, open our squeaky door slowly, just enough so that he could squeeze through, making his way over to Summer’s side of the bed. Up he’d crawl. He knew that if he came to my side, I’d send him back to bed, so he learned to play his mama from an early age. This went on for a few years. Later, we learned the cause of his restless sleep was sleep apnea due to enlarged tonsils and adenoids, which ultimately resulted in surgery.

While Summer was more involved with Sawyer’s delays and therapies, I immensely enjoyed my small share of the workload. Trying to take some of the weight off Summer, I volunteered to tackle meals. Breakfast generally consisted of oatmeal and dinner was usually a peanut butter and honey sandwich (cut into tiny squares, of course). Sawyer inherited his mother’s dislike of waiting, which meant that breakfast often resulted in a fit while it took me two whole minutes to heat up the oatmeal and then another two minutes to cool it down to just the right temperature.

It may seem that I’m painting a picture of a spoiled child who would throw a fit the moment he didn’t get his way, but I can assure you that wasn’t the case. Sawyer was a wonderfully compliant child, very loving, and overall obedient. He struggled with his expressive speech and couldn’t always communicate his wishes to us, causing frustration. As he got older and his communication developed, meals became a bit easier. It wasn’t long before Sawyer started increasing his food repertoire, though like most children, his preferences weren’t always healthy. He developed a ferocious appetite for Cracker Barrel’s mac and cheese.

Cracker Barrels line the interstate in our part of the country. Sawyer’s eagle eyes could spot the sign for his favorite place well before anyone else in the car.

Cwaka Bawal! Look! I see the sign! See it?! he would loudly announce, begging us to stop.

If it was close to mealtime, we would generally stop, much to his excitement.

Yay! Cwaka Bawal! he would cheer as we pulled into the parking lot.

On the occasions that we didn’t stop, Sawyer would bend his neck and continue pointing until it had passed out of sight. I still remember the sheer pleasure