I have never known a pain like this before. The other day I found myself in the shower weeping to the point where I couldn't even stand. I sat in the tub with the water pouring over me. The heaves came and I could barely breathe.
It all started when an image flashed in my head. The image was of my parents playing with my two younger daughters. One of whom they have never met, and the other that they only met at 5 weeks old. In other words, they never really got to know either. Watching that relationship unfold was robbed from me. For the entirety of my physical life I will never know the joy my parents would have in knowing my two younger daughters, nor would I ever get to see those girls light up at the sight of their Nana and Opa. I have been robbed.
I have never known pain like this before.
3 weeks ago I got the phone call that my little brother, aged 30, had died the night before. He woke up, unable to breathe. His lifelong battle with asthma ultimately found him to be the loser. I got the call as I was driving to a festival with my wife to celebrate my birthday. For the rest of my life my birthday is now also the day my brother passed away. His memorial service was on my 3-year-old's birthday and I had to miss it. I have been robbed.
My brother lived 1500 miles away from me. He lived in the town I grew up in. When visiting to bury him and attend a memorial service I found many people approached me to tell me that Stephen, my brother, had started changing right before he passed. After years of drug use and illegal activity, the past few years he had grown. He was a father now, a devoted boyfriend of a girl he planned to marry. He had become a force for good in most of the lives he frequented. They told me stories of how he had led them to hope in hopeless times. How he had shown them honor and respect, and saved their lives. While from afar I rarely talked to him and still was in process of repairing our relationship which had been damaged over the years, he was changing around those who now knew him best. It was only a matter of time before we would have been fully reconciled, and I could have known my brother as the man I had always prayed he would become. He would have been a wonderful uncle to my children, he already had been at times, and we would have been able to do so much together. My relationship with my brother had been on the brink of full restoration, and now I will not know it in this life. I have been robbed.
I have never known a pain like this before. The past few months my wife has been dealing with mysterious symptoms. Aches and pains and numbness and fatigue that comes and goes. She has been to doctors and been given full bill of health. Together we have gone after every spiritual area of affliction we can think to seal off. We have prayed and been counseled and tried new daily habits and yet nothing has budged. To date she has persevered and fought bravely, admirably fulfilling her duties as mother, wife, and friend. Yet the question always lingers, “What is wrong?” We are in a fight.
I have never known a pain like this before. For nearly six years now I have been dedicated and working toward finding a place in my chosen career path. I have interned at my local church. I have returned to school and finished strong. I have worked closely with another church only to find that it wasn't going to be a home for us. I have made myself available only to be overlooked. I have been stuck in jobs where my natural gifts are not used and where there is no promotion available. I'm now in my 30s and cannot find an open door, and all mine and my wife's dreams of career, buying a house, settling into a community long-term, things we have contended for in our 7 years of marriage, seem no closer now than they did at the beginning. We are in a fight.
I have never known a pain like this before, when everything attacks at once. Contending for breakthrough in health and career while also grieving the loss of half my family. I had a person tell me when I was in California for my brother's funeral that “You are so strong, but don't feel like you always need to be.” I now know what she meant. The past few days I've felt my strength disappear, and for the first time in my life I was happy to let it. Losing my brother reopened the wounds of losing my parents. Daily I watch as my wife pushes through her physical ailments. Daily I'm faced with hopelessness about my career, our financial future, and whether or not the things my wife and I dream about will ever happen. Daily I have to convince myself I'm not a failure. That none of these trials in my life are my fault. Logically, it's true. I just wish it dulled the pain.
So where is God in all of this? If anything I've learned that He is so faithful. True, it's not in the ways I expect or even how I want. For the first time in my life I feel I am being crushed but I have not gotten angry at Him. It's hard to be angry when I have so much to be thankful for. My children, first and foremost, are healthy and thriving. I'm more in love with my wife than I've ever been. My health is great. As of this moment we have no financial concerns. We have great friends and are surrounded by people who love us. We are very rich in that regard. We eat well and live in a nice little house in a safe neighborhood. In many ways you could look at us and say we're living the dream.
The other day I had the thought that if I were God and I was as good as I believe He is, if I was ready to promote my grown kid but I knew the time wasn't right I would put him or her someplace safe to wait. I would make sure they had everything they needed to grow safely and enjoy themselves while they bided their time until the time was right to move them on. While in this “waiting” period I would help them to address anything that might hold them back in the future. I would help them grow even more prepared for whatever they were facing. I would make sure that they came out of it strong as possible. I also would probably have them wait while I knew a storm was blowing outside.
In other words, I would do exactly what God has done with us. We are in a safe place to grow. We are facing very little outward adversity. Our battles right now are internal. My wife's health issue, our battles with frustration, my navigating grief, etc... Yes, the pain is great, sometimes too great to bear in our own strength, but at least my battles are focused. It is God's goodness that keeps us safe from the outward attacks while we are conquering the inner. In all of this pain, in all of this processing, I have never not once felt safe. And I am grateful for that.
I'll be real honest. Right now, even as I talk about the bright spots of our season, I don't feel joy. I feel a numbing sadness. It's pervasive. I don't feel strong, I feel weak. I don't feel hopeful, I feel lost. But I can still feel God. I can still feel His peace when I turn toward Him. I can still feel His tenderness. If anything it just makes me feel like weeping more. For my lost parents, for my lost brother, for my ailing wife and for my inability to open the doors to our dreams.
Somehow, through all of this, through one of the toughest seasons of my life, I know that I know that I know that He is good, and He is love. I know that He didn't orchestrate these hard things, but I know that He is holding us through them. And though I don't understand any of this; the loss, the grief, the desperation, the unanswered questions, I can't give up on trusting Him. For the first time in my life, I think I'm finally learning what enduring faith really is, and I feel like I'm beginning to grasp a deeper part of His heart for us.
Eventually breakthrough will come, in all of these areas. I know this because it's what He has taught me over the years. Eventually we will look back on this season as one we absolutely needed to have in order to grow. Eventually, yada yada yada. I'm am really excited for that day. Being in a fire of life this hot really sucks. But for now I'm called to do one thing: endure. I'll cry a little every day until the grief of my family is processed; I'll work my shift work job as best I can; I'll love my kids and hold them close; I'll contend for my wife's health and love her the best I can; I'll spend my free time watching Netflix and sports and playing games; I'll make time for friends; and I'll soak in the presence of God and worship Him with thanksgiving during all of it. And through all of it, I'll be hoping and praying for the next season.
But I'm thankful, so thankful, that while the fire is hot, He is in here with me. And while I don't feel faithful, or strong, or hopeful, it doesn't matter. He is good enough that if I simply try to choose those things, He will take care of the rest. He's a good, good Father. And that makes everything else possible to endure.
