It’s been 8 weeks since Maddox started Trikafta. Eight weeks!! So far, so good. He takes it like a champ, and it has already woven itself into the natural rhythm of Maddox’s daily treatments.

He’s had one round of his monthly lab work since starting Trikafta, and praise God, his results looked great. He has another round this week, and we will pray over them just as we do with every poke, every throat swab, every appointment, every cough, and every breath.

Maddox is still his goofy, wild, sensitive, and heartfelt 2 year old self. He has all the big emotions, and he surely shows them. We love this about him. Trikafta doesn’t seem to be affecting his mood or mental state, which, if you read my last blog post, was my biggest fear. The day he started the medication, God’s grace covered me. I didn’t expect to feel peace, yet He cast my fears and anxieties out to sea, and I felt a calmness in the shelter of His shore.

To be honest, life hasn’t seemed to change much. Maddox did get sick once, and it seemed as though his body fought it off a little easier and it was more brief. He surely didn’t cough as much, which was very reassuring. Part of us was maybe expecting some dramatic shift. We had been told he might experience what’s called “the purge” in the beginning. That’s when a lot of mucus comes up and out of the body (I know, kind of gross). But the reality of what Maddox’s body faces is trapped, sticky mucus building up in his organs, especially his lungs. In a strange way, part of us wanted this to happen. We wanted physical evidence that the medication was working, something tangible to cling to. But it never came.

Another thing we prayed for was that his pancreas might regain sufficiency — that it would function “normally” and he wouldn’t need enzymes. We saw little signs that made us wonder if it could be happening, so his doctor ordered a fecal elastase test. We poured all our hope into those results, knowing it wasn’t always the case for CF patients on Trikafta, but still clinging to the possibility.

The test came back. No progress. The same number it was on the day he was born. Still pancreatic insufficient.

Our hearts sank. I asked God, “Why can’t we just have one good test result?” In the middle of my anger and questioning, God stopped me. He immediately reminded me of the good reports we had just been given just weeks before: clear liver function, a throat culture showing no signs of lung infection, and increased weight gain. I had read those results with my own eyes, breathed a huge sigh of relief at the time, and deeply thanked God. Yet I let this one “no” drown out so many of His “yeses.”

I’m realizing more and more that test results don’t get to write our story. I’ve learned this lesson before, but it seems to be something I continue to encounter and have to learn again. The truth is, healing might not come in one sweeping, dramatic moment. It might not come in the form of a single test telling us what we’ve been longing to hear. Instead, maybe it comes in the ordinary days that feel so normal we almost forget what a miracle they already are.

So while I still pray boldly for big miracles, I’m learning to hold just as tightly to the small mercies. Because God is at work in all of it — the sigh of relief after good liver labs, the sound of clear lungs, and the belly laugh of a little boy that will always be far louder than a test result.

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” – Hebrews 11:1