Waiting 

I’m feeling a bit speechless this morning. A unique numbness of sorts. We’ve been able to sleep a good bit today after being moved from the ICU to a regular floor just for neurology patients. There are less monitors and less interruptions in this room, and we have a door so we can shut off some of the noise that reminds us we’re in a hospital and not in our home. This is all such a surreal sort of thing. I’m still very much feeling like I’m living someone else’s life. I keep waiting for the reality to hit me. I’m not sure when that will happen. I am sure that I will have an acute sense of despair when it does. In that moment, I anticipate to feel very much held by the arms of the Saviour who I know loves me so passionately. I expect to understand at the end of this trial with much more clarity a fragment of the pain Christ felt when he was in the garden, confessing His lack of desire to walk the road ahead of Him all the while willingly accepting God’s path for Him. What I want you to know in this moment is this:

I don’t believe for one millisecond that God has forsaken us. 

I don’t believe any of this is a punishment for some sort of sin. Just like in John 9 when Jesus is asked who sinned that a man would be born blind, the underlying purpose of this is not punishment; it is God’s glory. 

“Jesus answered, ‘It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.'” Don’t miss that, guys! This is not about us! 

How powerful is the testimony of healing when tragedy seems the only path? Like when Jesus forgave the sinner-like-us-man hanging on a cross next to His? That man was devoid of all hope, and Christ cried out on His behalf. I hear the same voice that gave that man hope echoing through my mind daily, hourly, by the minute. “Have courage, I am WITH you. I am IN this!” 

God is all over this process. He is using us in ways we could not have expected (or accepted) until we were thrust into the midst of such a strangely peaceful horror story. 

We are still waiting for clear answers, and we won’t have them until after he has a surgery to remove as much of the tumor as they can safely take out. The tumor is very, very large. 10 centimeters, they think. It’s all over the place. But God. But God. But GOD. God who made the human brain, Jesse’s human brain, God who placed each star and designed our planet so that it stays in just the place He wants it to be, moving along seamlessly and providing us with all of the many things we need to survive our finiteness…that same powerful, capable God who made all of everything is equally powerful and capable of providing my husband’s brain with healing. 

We have a very big tumor. And that very big tumor is serving the purpose of pointing people to an even bigger God. 

Pray today that God would provide miraculous healing so that people will have no choice but to see His very hands at work in this and come to know Him because of it. Pray for Jesse, that he will be given the ability to think, speak, and read clearly, and that the steroids would not cause him emotional stress. Pray for me, that the God of the universe would reveal Himself to me in my times of weakness as Sustainer and Provider. And pray for our children. Pray so hard for them, that they would have understanding beyond their years and that this moment in their lives would cause them to love Jesus more relentlessly in the days and years to come. God’s got this. God’s got us. God’s got you.