Cameron

Dear family and friends

When Cameron Benjamin Reyburn made his way into the world on 7 April 2008 our lives changed in the most beautiful, breathtaking way. What followed were six weeks of being blissfully awestruck by absolutely everything about his tiny person.

And then, two weeks ago, we discovered that Cameron has bilateral congenital cataracts, which means that he isn’t seeing more than a cloudy blur of light or dark. He is still the same impossibly adorable baby boy who smells delicious at bedtime and is just learning to laugh. And yet now he faces a future of countless operations, possible – even probable – glaucoma and blindness, a life robbed of colour and beauty and opportunity and ease. So much of what we have pictured of our lives with him seems now to mock us cruelly. Will he go to a mainstream school? Will he be able to drive? Will he be teased by nasty children? Will he read music, or see a sunset on top of the Drakensberg, or backpack his way through the cathedrals of Europe?

Murray being an Optometrist with a degree in Genetics means that we have faced a mental Everest of frightening textbook case studies and patient histories. We have spoken to specialists in South Africa and abroad, read article after article, rehashed the options and possibilities of Cam’s situation over and over. The spectrum of our emotions over these past days has ranged from paralyzing terror that makes my skin ache, to confident hope, to anger, to numb calmness, to utter despair, to disappointment, to the quiet sadness of grief. And we have wept… and wept.

The low down is the following: if they operate now to remove the cataracts, Cameron’s sight could develop pretty well, but he will almost certainly develop glaucoma, which is not always treatable, and if developed in such a young patient results in blindness within a couple of years. If they wait a few months before operating, the risk of his developing glaucoma is lessened, but his vision will be the poorer for the delay. So we are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Do we operate early, give him the best chance at vision and hope that he doesn’t go blind after a while? Or do we wait, and at least give him some, if limited, vision, hopefully for the rest of his life?

I know it was no accident that in those sacred moments of Cam’s delivery, the hymn It is well with my soul was playing softly in the calm, sterile caesarian theatre of the Pretoria East Hospital. I will never forget Murray’s ecstasy, Cameron’s first cry as they lifted him from me, and the ancient words:

O Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll…

At the time I didn’t know of the clouds that Cameron would face, and how desperately I would long for the physical clouds of congenital cataracts to be rolled away from these precious tiny eyes I have come to love far more than I can say. I know that God will roll away the clouds to reveal the blazing light of His glory. I don’t know yet how He will do that. Perhaps by miraculously healing Cameron physically; or perhaps by giving him spiritual eyesight to accomplish His Kingdom purposes.

There are, however, a few things I know for sure.

I know that with our God, the best is yet to be.

I know that I don’t have to say, ‘Oh God, look at this great mountain!’, but rather, I can say, ‘Mountain, look at our great God!’ He has never let us down; He has never not come through for us; He has never disappointed. Even when the end result has been different from what I wanted or envisaged, in hindsight His way has always been higher and better than my way. And I know that in this situation His character – perfect in love, power and wisdom – will be no different.

I know that God knit Cameron together in my womb, fearfully and wonderfully. I know that every day, every moment, of his life was laid out before one of them came to pass (Psalm 139).

I know that we will do everything in our power to make sure that Cameron leads a brimful life of wonder, opportunity and zest. Someone wisely said that ‘normal’ is just a cycle on the washing machine… so I am determined never to let it be said that Cam will not lead a ‘normal’ life. He is a whole, unique, potential-laden little boy with his own character, temperament and personality just waiting to be unleashed on the world.

Since his conception I have been praying for Cameron, that he will be a man of God, set apart for His purposes. I’ve prayed that he will live out loud every bit of the potential that God has placed within him, that he will have a mighty heart, and that he will be wise. And so I know that this scary, sad situation will be used of God for Cameron’s good and for His glory.

We have been overwhelmed and humbled by how this news has affected people – our closest family and friends, and then also people who have never even met us or Cameron. We have been deeply touched to hear of churches, cell groups, prayer chains on literally every continent around the globe who are praying for us. We have been so encouraged by the visits, phone calls, SMS’s and emails, the meals brought, the Scriptures given, the words of life and hope and love and favour bestowed upon us. We are particularly grateful to our families, and to our church family of Waterkloof Baptist, for their rock solid support for us at this time.

I thought to just include the following verses, which have meant a lot to me over the past two weeks (maybe so you can remind me of these things when the stress and fear set in again, as I know they inevitably will?):

Psalm 77:19
‘Your road led through the sea, your pathway through the mighty waters – a pathway no one knew was there!’

Is 40:11
‘He will feed the flock like a shepherd. He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young.’

Job 42:2
‘I know that Thou canst do all things, and that no purpose of Thine can be thwarted.’

Psalm 84:11
‘For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord gives grace and glory; no good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly.’

Psalm 138:8
‘The Lord will work out His plans for my life – for Your faithful love, O Lord, endures forever. Don’t abandon me, for You made me.’

Ephesians 3:20
‘Now all glory to God, who is able, through His mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.’

And then the words of yet another brilliant hymn:

Be still, my soul! The Lord is on thy side; bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
Leave to thy God to order and provide; in every change He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul! Thy best, thy heavenly Friend thro’ thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul! Thy God doth undertake to guide the future as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake; all now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul! The waves and winds still know His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.

Be still, my soul! The hour is hastening on when we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief and fear are gone, sorrow forgot, love’s purest joy restored.
Be still, my soul! When change and tears are past, all safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

We meet with another ophthalmologist this week – probably the one who will do the surgery. Please continue to pray for wisdom for all concerned. Thanks so much.

Love Dalene