Warrior Poetry

As most of you are well aware, our daughter Elizabeth and son-in-law Caleb have been through a long medical journey with their three boys, Connor, Titan and Daniel, including four very long years of testing and treatments at the Cincinnati Children’s Hospital. All three boys have been diagnosed with rare genetic abnormalities that result in unusual and sometimes downright baffling symptoms. As Elizabeth navigates these waters, she writes, oftentimes in the middle of the night, to cope with the stresses and strains of medical motherhood. I call her a “warrior poet.” She goes out and fights for her children, and then retreats into her writing to process the experience and heal for the next fight. This is a recent entry she made expressing her love and thankfulness for Calvary and its healing environment. We don’t say it often enough, but thank you for the love and support you have shown for all of us. As Elizabeth expresses in this article, CBC is a special place, a special atmosphere where God brings healing to all kinds of wounds. We love you all more than you will ever know. - Bro. Donnie

Over the past 9 months since moving home, our family has spent it transitioning our medical care and lives into Tennessee to finally be together again. It’s been an excruciatingly hard and exhausting few years. And in our time, I’ve learned it’s not a season; this is our world raising “uniquely and wonderfully made” children.

As so often has happened in the past decade and a half, I crawled back into a Calvary pew exhausted, broken, and overwhelmed with the feelings of fear and failure. Medical motherhood has broken me down in ways I haven’t always been able to verbalize. Even now, as I write this letter at 3 am, I’m googling relapsing symptoms of a snoozing child wondering what the New Year holds for my herd of medically complex zebras.

There have been many Sundays where I’ve been white knuckling services out of nothing but obedience to “not forsake the gathering of His people.” Managing my trauma and hurting with yarn and fidget toys for my children. Many weekends hauling in like a hurricane of chaos after fighting battles like wearing actual clothes, taking medication, and abandoning all hope of matching shoes.

When my parents moved to Tennessee nearly 17 years ago, my dad needed a healing station after a brutal few years in ministry. And over the last 15 years of marriage, moves, babies, and breaking, the Horne family has also come home to the healing station that is Calvary many times.

Every victory and every heartbreak, my parents promised we could always come home. But Calvary extended that promise to us by wrapping our family in peace and safety. When churches and life had all but collapsed our family, Calvary quietly welcomed us home. My children run into the building loved and safe. Stims and braces, weird food needs, sensory difficulties, and parents who had seen the worst sides of the world found peace in the Haven that is sitting on Pine Street.

And quietly Calvary continued to meet needs. A meal train was set up and for months, weekly meals have come to our door, each one carefully put together under the food needs of 3 children on the autism spectrum. It has taken such a burden off of my shoulders after long days traveling across the Tri-Cities and often to Knoxville and Nashville to the many therapies and doctors we have to see.

There are quiet prayers, meals, toys, balloons, groceries and hugs that have been Christ in action to our weary family. But mostly, there is the acceptance and care our church family has extended to our boys: understanding, questions, and care to make church accessible for them. As a result of church being home, our middle son, who is diagnosed with NKap Syndrome, accepted Christ two weeks ago.

As I’ve said so many times over the years, “thanks” feels inadequate. But from the bottom of my heart, thank you for being a healing station for my family once again. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for praying for us. Thank you for feeding us. Thank you for allowing us to come home and loving us as we navigate disease and doctors.

Thank you for being a home for our family,
Elizabeth