You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives. – Genesis 50:20

My name is Aaron White and for the last 28 years I have been a Respiratory Care Practitioner. This field has been a blessing to me and has taken me to places all over the world I never dreamed possible. I have worked in environments from neonatal to adult critical care, designed a pulmonary rehab program for cystic fibrosis patients, trained new and existing nurses, respiratory therapists, and physicians nationally and internationally. 

Personally, my life has been very blessed. I’ve been married to my wife Niki for 15 years. I am a father to five children ranging in ages from 13 to 32 years old. As one might expect, most of my children are grown and living independent lives but two remain at home, my 13-year old daughter and my 31-year old son Lance who has some special needs and requires our assistance. 

Who knew the training I received 28 years ago in the life saving field I work in would come into the spotlight in such a huge way in 2020 due to the pandemic virus outbreak? I’ve since trained thousands of medical staff to properly use ventilators.

Let me tell you how I got here:

In 1992, my wife was expecting our second child. The pregnancy was unremarkable and all typical milestones were on point. No unique presentations were revealed during pre-delivery ultrasounds and familial history for birth defects were negative for both sides of our family.

Lance’s sister, born slightly less than two years prior, was an uneventful pregnancy and delivery. As one can imagine, we had planned and expected a healthy baby boy. But that would all change when his mother went into premature labor at roughly 33 weeks. Our baby was born breech and required an emergency c-section.

I remember like it was yesterday as we were whisked off to surgery and he was surgically extracted. The team flashed him briefly before my eyes and dashed off to begin working on him. Although brief, the image of his deformed head, fingers and toes was captured in my mind in slow motion.

In that moment, the fear felt overwhelming and was further emboldened by the words of the physician, “…we have NEVER seen this before.” Those words echoed in my mind and taunted me with images of an uncertain future. My mind was reeling from the loss of what I envisioned this beautiful day would bring. It was like just before a fight with someone who you knew outclassed you and his punch, already in motion, resembled a freight train destined to deliver a cargo of pain. This blow, it seemed, guaranteed its contact would result in a career ending defeat…or would it?

My mind swirled as I comforted my wife and encouraged her that everything was going to be okay and assured her that I would check on him as soon as they completed her surgery. At his bedside, I would now get a closer view of what I was convinced only earlier was just a bad dream. Maybe I really didn’t see what I thought I’d seen. Maybe his premature delivery could explain it all away. Maybe everything would just come together and turnout okay in time.

All of these thoughts were stripped away as I stared into those beautiful eyes that beckoned me to stay in the fight for him. It was clear he needed me to fight this fight on an entirely different level—a level that would challenge everything I believed about the goodness and faithfulness of God’s love for me and my family. This fight would require me to stand on EVERY word that God has spoken to me. There was no backup plan…the fight was on and my wife and child required that I not retreat.

It took two weeks before they were able to pinpoint his diagnosis: “I know what your son has,” the neurosurgeon said. “It’s called Apert’s Syndrome and I wouldn’t touch him with a 100-foot pole. But, I am referring you to a team of experts in Dallas, Texas who specialize in these kind of cases.”

Apert’s Syndrome is associated with a whole host of craniofacial and skeletal system abnormalities. Without numerous surgeries to correct, it results in further mental deficiencies, blindness, paralysis, multiple fine-motor skill deficiencies, and can potentially cause death.

At the time, I was going to Bible training school, volunteering at church, giving financially, working full-time, and striving to follow everything God had asked of me. The thoughts in my head were screaming at a most indescribable decibel.

“How could God allow this to happen?”

“Where did I fail Him?”

“Where are you, Father?”

“How is Satan getting away with this?”

“Where is the justice?”

“You’re doing all of these things for God and this is how He demonstrates His faithfulness?”

I knew, however, in the deepest part of my spirit that the events and the dialogue that seemed to suffocate every part of my being were from the enemy. My Heavenly Father did not intend to harm my son or me.

You might be thinking, “Wow, Aaron. Nothing about the beginning of this story is encouraging!” and in a way, you would be right. Let me share something though. In that same moment, when everything around me seemed deafening, it could not silence the most beautiful and indescribable peace. I can’t begin to describe it. This peace, while such a soft and quiet voice, was able to overpower the noise all around me. 

It did not scream but it could be heard above the seemingly deafening chaos.

Interestingly, in the moments shortly after his delivery and being transferred to the NICU, a pastor from my churched visited me. I remember telling him, “I know God did NOT do this to my son. I can’t explain this but I have this peace on the inside that everything is going to be okay.”

The pastor responded with these powerful and timeless words: “You hold onto that peace and never let it go!”

It has been nearly 29 years ago but I remember that discussion like it was yesterday. I continue to hold onto those words.

Lance spent countless days in the NICU where he went through multiple near-death experiences with RSV, craniofacial surgery when he turned six months old, an emergency tracheotomy, and 13 PICU stays within a year.

There are two events, however, that stand out to me:

The first took place during the first few hours in the NICU. I remember looking into my precious son’s fragile eyes and telling the enemy, “Satan, make no mistake I know who is behind this and I promise, you will curse the day you ever did this to my son. Whether he lives or dies I will continue to tell others it is God’s will to heal. I’ll tell everyone. I will continue to lay hands on the sick and they will recover.”

The second event was witnessing all of the wonderful care that was being provided by the health care providers, in particular, those who were believers. Those individuals were used by God to minister such love and peace to my son and my family. I knew that even when I was away, the very hands and feet of God were ministering to my son. 

I remember thinking to myself, “I am so very grateful they didn’t try to be pastors, teachers, evangelists, but instead chose to grow were God had clearly planted them. My son is safe when I am away because of their obedience.’

Similarly, although seemingly a lofty goal at the time, I remember wishing I could be like them. I wished I could do what they were trained and skilled to do—to be there for parents who are expecting healthy children but their world has been turned upside down, their faith seemingly shipwrecked, and be equipped by God to encourage them to stay in the fight.

Over the course of the first two years of Lance’s life, it became increasingly evident that I needed to attend college or receive seem some vocational training. But what would I ever be good at? At that time, I was discouraged. I had moved from Oklahoma to California to help out a church following Bible training school. The church was unable to fulfill their commitments financially. Consequently, we moved south to Bakersfield where we shared the home of my parents and siblings. Having only a high school education, it was clear I had to go back to school if we were to ever do more than struggle to survive, let alone thrive.

My mom approached me and said, “Aaron, you need to go to college. You can stay here with us as long as you need. This is the only way you are ever going to get out of this mess.”

That was a harsh wakeup call considering that both Lance’s mom and myself were school custodians prior to moving to California. I wasn’t exactly what one would consider a Rhode’s Scholar.

MY BACK STORY

I was the oldest of six. I was born to a mother who was pregnant with me and married at age 13 to a verbally and physically abusive father who was 21 years old. Neither parent completed school beyond the eighth grade.

I was placed in foster care for nearly a year at the age of three months old. This happened after I was rushed to the hospital with a brain contusion suffered under the hand of my father. He had slammed my head against the rocking chair and then placed my lifeless body in the crib—all because the colic crying was more than he was willing to tolerate.

By first grade my teacher requested a meeting with my parents out of concern that I was cognitively delayed and needed classes for the learning impaired. I lived in that environment until my mom was able to escape with us when I was ten years old.

From an early age, I had zero self-esteem. Our neighbors were convinced that my siblings and I would either wind up dead or in prison and had no problem sharing this perspective with their children and other neighbors alike.

In school, I was just trying to follow what other kids were doing to prepare for a life after graduation. I was convinced that I was incapable of ever being smart enough to go to college. At best, maybe I would be able to take up a trade working with my hands because even my parents seem to be able to do that with a very meager education.

To say I was full of hate, bitterness, and envy would be a gross understatement. That’s what I was like before I gave my life to Jesus Christ. I hated the life I was thrust into and despised anyone who had more than I did.

I was so very angry and resentful that I was born into a family of poor, destitute failures. I hated being routinely exposed to the emotionally bankrupt losers my mother managed to link up with to satisfy her co-dependency issues. But to be clear, I love my mother. Without Christ we ALL make bad decisions. That includes me.

In short, I blamed anyone and everyone. All of my decisions, good or bad, was because it was someone else’s fault. I could have been something were it not for the life I was born into.

I thought Christians were a bunch of people who attempted to live by some unattainable higher moral code and demonstrated by their character that they could not live up to the standards they preached to others. I figured if I am going to hell, if it was even a real place, then I might as well do whatever I wanted and to whomever I wanted as it suited me and conformed to my hypocritical, self-righteous, and self-indulgent standards. All sin was justifiable and truth was a matter of perspective and dynamically subject to interpretation—certainly NOT absolute.

But in 12th grade, something changed in me. I was exposed to several Christian kids from a local youth group who were completely sold out to Jesus Christ. Witnessing the peace they had seemed to quiet my tormented mind.

I set out to disprove their authenticity. Interestingly, after a week of being in their midst, I returned to our trailer house in Oklahoma, fell to my knees in that living room, and told God, “I want what they have. They have peace. I have none. Please, come into my heart and give me what they’ve got.”

Two days later I went to church and was filled with the baptism of the Holy Spirit and was freed of drug addiction in that very moment! I was done with Aaron’s Way. It wasn’t working anyway and only made things undeniably worse.

In the months and years that followed my conversion, I immersed myself in the Word of God and studied Bible based teaching materials. My mind was gloriously renewed; my thought life changed, and the eyes of my understanding were truly enlightened.

I began to examine life through the microscope of God’s Holy Word. I began to see I was never created to be limited to my abilities. And that was just the beginning. To this day, I am still learning that I am at my best when I embrace the principles of His truth. I must decrease that He might increase. Less Aaron and more Jesus, please!

TIME FOR SCHOOL

Now, back to California where my mom had encouraged me to go back to school. While staying in her home with my wife and two children, I attended San Joaquin Valley College and investigated their respiratory care practitioner (RCP) program. Honestly, I just wanted to learn how to take better care of my son and to help his health on all fronts—both in prayer and in practice.

The program was broken up into two segments: Certified Respiratory Therapy Technician (CRTT) program for 18 months and Registered Respiratory Therapist (RRT) program for six months.

The price for the first segment was a little over $16,000 dollars. After successfully completing the first block, the student must pass the CRTT exam. This allows the student to practice at the bedside. Going on to RRT training followed by the National Board For Respiratory Care (NBRC) exam affords the opportunity to operate at an advanced level respiratory care practitioner and command a higher salary.

I was scared to death to take on such a task. The amount for the program seemed insurmountable. How would I ever pay this back if I passed the courses but failed the national boards exams? Could I make my life even more complicated than it already was?

But I decided that if I was to commit to this debt there was going to be zero excuse for not passing those boards, let alone the program. So I enrolled in the program and gave it everything I had. God faithfully answered my prayers, equipped me with a relentless work ethic, and I lived in the library whenever I wasn’t in class.

The year prior to college, my son Lance was in the hospital 13 times in one year. Most of which were stays in the PICU. Taking knowledge from the training received in school and through God’s faithfulness, I was able to apply changes to his care that resulted in only six hospital stays in the following year.

Through God’s amazing grace and equipping me with everything I need for life and godliness, I not only completed the program, but I also graduated in the top two of the RCP program for our group!

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF LANCE

Lance is all grown up now and living in our home still to this day. He is my precious son and one of my most cherished friends of all time. He is highly regarded in the community and serves our local youth group. He loves God and is a faithful giver. He is one of the most compassionate people I have ever met—always considering others first.

In spite of some of his physical and cognitive challenges over the years, he is always one of the first individuals in our house to lead us to pray for others, especially the sick. He has done this since he was a little guy.

Lance is an inspiration to behold and inspires me daily to be a better servant, father, husband, son, brother, and friend. In short, my life has been blessed indescribably, exceedingly, abundantly above all I could ask, think, hope, or imagine because I witness God’s faithfulness in the life Lance leads each and every day.

When you are facing what seems like overwhelming odds, at the end of the day, there has ALWAYS been only One you can rely upon no matter what. God is faithful. You and your child are so very precious to Him and He will see you through!