My First Born Son

First Born at age 1 year and 4 months
photo taken on September 1981

"Take now your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love..."

Genesis 22:2

Today is my eldest son's 28th birthday. It will be a milestone for him because it is his first birthday as a married man. Ernie and I scheduled our trip back to the Philippines to coincide with this special event, so that we could all be together as a family to celebrate it.


I still remember the day he was born. The labor was fast, and the baby came out before the doctor arrived. Ernie and I went through Lamaze lessons a few months before our son's arrival, so I knew all the breathing and the pushing techniques needed to make the birthing process happen as naturally as possible. And it did.


We named him First-Born Son. Our hearts were full of hopes and dreams for our first-born son. After the delivery, which happened at about 3:45 a.m., I was back in my hospital room just in time to see the sunrise from my bed. The pinkish light of dawn was spreading gently across the morning sky. It was a new day and on that special morning, I knew God was speaking to my heart a powerful message of hope.


Thinking about his birthday reminds me of an event I'll never forget.

Just before his 8th birthday, in 1988, First Born Son became very ill. Below is an excerpt from my journal which I have written regarding this very memorable part of my life as his mother.

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Journal Entry: March 26, 1988

It is amazing how God sends experiences into our daily lives to reveal something to us. For some time now I have felt trapped and resentful in the kind of life I was in: the children have been demanding, my work at school has not been giving me the sense of fulfillment I had hoped it would, church relationships have been far from ideal, and above it all, I was not happy with the way I was reacting to all of what was happening....

And so when First-born Son became very ill last week, Tuesday night to be exact, it came as no surprise to me. It just had to happen. He developed a high fever which by Friday still had not gotten better, despite medication. To make matters worse, on that same day he started having diarrhea, and by Saturday morning, we were advised by our pediatrician, Dr. Sicangco, to bring him to the hospital. It was diagnosed earlier as a case of measles, but the diarrhea was a complication which needed professional care.

For days after that, the fever and the diarrhea continued and I sensed my son sinking into despair. How awful he must have felt. On Sunday morning my son said, "Mama I am afraid that I might never get well and die." Then this little boy pleaded with me to pray to Jesus to heal him. At the height of his despondency, he looked at me with tears in his eyes, and said, "Mama, I really feel so sorry for myself."

The truth is, I really felt so sorry for him. He was so weak, he could not open his eyes, and the fact that we had to make frequent trips to the restroom only served to emphasize his worsening condition. His lips were cracked and raw, his eyes secreted pus, I had to clean them every so often. The nighttime found my son coughing continually.

It was painful for me to see him this way. I found myself begging God to heal my son, reminding Him that He was the Author of life, and that He could heal First-Born Son if He wanted to. I could offer no bargains with Him knowing I was utterly dependent upon Him. I poured my heart out to Him: "Lord, You know what is best for me. Do as you please, God. And thank You -- I know You don't want anything less than my total good. Thank you."


What surprises me is the seeming calm within my heart as we spent that first day in hospital. It felt so peaceful to be there, alone with First-Born Son in that comfortable hospital room. I had no doubt it was God's perfect will for me to be there, although I never did ask for that sickness to happen.

I believe it was a clear case of Romans 8:28 where God takes the ugliness of human frailty and uses it to create something beautiful in my situation.


I cannot pinpoint the precise instance when God spoke to me. It must have been during the time that First-Born Son's condition was worsening. Many instances of what my son was struggling with came to my mind. I knew he had been going through a difficult time, and my heart as his mother ached for him. I remembered the frustration I had been feeling lately because of his twisted understanding about many things in his life.


I saw the hopes and the aspirations that Ernie and I had concerning our son, and how disappointed we were to see that things were not turning out the way we wanted them to. God knows we have tried our best. In our hearts was a special place for him as our first born, yet many times he felt that we did not love him enough....


We had to look within ourselves and ask, "Where have we gone wrong?"

What does he know of our hearts? Where could I as a mother even begin to touch him, and make him understand the truth, not so much for our sake, but for his own? How I wanted to make him see and feel our love for him! But how could I help him? Was there anything else I could do?


These and many other questions flooded my mind. And I remember my feelings as I sat in that hospital room alone with my sick son; feelings of helplessness and deep sadness. Yes, there was serenity in knowing that things were happening according to a Divine plan, and that somehow God had a purpose in it all for me, especially for me. Nevertheless my heart was heavy because I wanted nothing but the best for First-Born Son and I felt so unable to give it to him.


Then what happened next? I'm not really sure how to describe it. Was it a voice? Was it a thought? How did God communicate His thoughts to man? Slowly, but very clearly, I began thinking this way:

If I loved my son with all the love that a mother could feel for him, then how much more did God love him? If I wanted nothing less than the best for him, how much good did God desire for him? Could it be less than what I wanted for him?

All that God was planning for him was certainly beyond what I could imagine!

I began to understand that the very best, from his own Creator's point of view, was just waiting to happen. Therefore, if my greatest human effort to help my son proved to be in vain, could anything be too hard for God?

Thoughts were swirling around in my mind. Suddenly, as if a light switch had been turned on, the great truth that God must have been wanting to teach me finally dawned on me: it was His business to mold First-Born Son's heart into what He wants it to be, not mine.

Somehow God was impressing upon me that He was the one Who created my son; I needed not bear the burden of shaping First-Born Son into what I thought was best for him. The ball was in God's court, so to speak.

I was so struck by what God was telling me, I wondered why I never realized it before! God was freeing me from a burden I had carried ever since First-Born Son turned five years old. I could let go of the disappointment and the frustration, the high expectations, the self-blame, the what ifs and what could have beens.

In a single moment, face to face with the possible death of this precious son of mine, God makes His presence felt. It's not that He was far and decided to draw near, no! He was there all along, I was simply too full of my own concerns to notice.


In His mercy, He lifts the veil and gives me a glimpse into His heart.

Of course it did make sense. If He was my God, if I called Him my God, then wasn't He God over all other concerns of my life as well? Surely He was God over my children, and He was God over my first-born son.


I expected his condition to improve the following day, but it did not. I even heard the doctor muttering to himself, "Hmm, I don't like what is happening...." But after my encounter with God, it did not matter much to me at that point. I came to appreciate my son anew, in spite of all that he had been. That night, I asked him to lie down beside me, being careful with his IV tubes and all, and I hugged him as tightly as I could. If God would choose to take him from me, I felt that the precious lesson learned in that single moment would be worth all that it could cost me. "You know what is best, Lord. My son belongs to You," I found myself saying.



We were discharged from the hospital five days later. I had gone through something like what Abraham experienced after he offered that ram on one of the mountains of Moriah. I got my son back, but only after I was willing to lose him, and I discovered I was the richer for it.

God, the Provider knows how to deal with me in my weakness, He knows exactly when to reveal Himself to me. Knowing the depth of my misery and helplessness, He chooses, just at the right moment, to step in with His healing hand. And He healed my heart.