When You Don’t Want The Good

I’m sure you’ve heard the verse, “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose” Romans 8:28. Christians normally quote it to other Christians when they’re facing a rough time, but my question is: what if don’t want the good?

What if the good still hurts? What if the good alter my life in a way I don’t want it to?

Nearly two years ago, I had those closest to me essentially then their back on me. I was accused of awful things. Most of the “gifts” and “responsibilities” I was given had strings attached. It was unhealthy. One that left me with a lot of working through to “get back” to normal. It took 5 months of being home for my Mom to say, “She’s back.” As if someone had carved a piece out of me that I had to grow back. To this day, there are still things I have to fight because of that relationship. To this day, I will look back at pictures and feel sucker punched. To this day, I still get tears in my eyes because of the loss of so many who I considered my “Second Family.”

And then, I lost my Dad. I lost the rock of my family. I lost the one I would write with. I lost the one who I discussed Theology. I lost the one who would stop what he was doing to let me process. I lost the one who would edit my pieces. I lost the one who I’d dreamed since I was little, would walk me down the aisle and perform my ceremony. I lost my Dad.

To be honest, I don’t care about the good that will come out of this. I just want my Dad back. And I know, the person I was before the accident on July 16th, will never be again. That girl had a Dad. The girl after July 23rd doesn’t and has to live the rest of her life without one.

I didn’t want my life to change by rejection from those I loved and the death of my Dad. I never prayed for this. In fact, I prayed for the opposite. I prayed for reconciliation and got rejection. I prayed for a miracle and got a grave.

If there is good, I honestly cannot see it. I just see a lot of broken pieces and I have no earthly idea how they will all fit. My heart is so broken it doesn’t even have a shape. The broken pieces keep breaking. I feel like pain and grief has blocked my vision and I only see out of one eye and live out of half of my body and half of my mind.

But, this week, I heard a podcast and was reminded of a verse. The person on the broadcast was Josh McDowell. If you don’t know his past, he was sexually abused by a hired hand for 7 years of his childhood. He was raised in a home where his father beat his mother repeatedly to a pulp. He was neglected on several accounts. Although he is a very successful individual, you know what he said? Just because I’m a Christian doesn’t mean I don’t still feel the pain. He shared of some of the things he still has to fight against decades later. He said God never promised a pain-free life. But, He did promise not to leave me.

Then, I was reminded of Isaiah 43:2, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, Nor will the flame burn you.”

Jesus didn’t say we’d float on top of the water. Or, that we’d paddle over the river. Or, that we’d go around the fire. Every. Single. Time. It says through. I have to walk through the grief. I have to walk through the pain. I have to walk through the loss. Every loss, trial, and suffering that may come, I have to walk through, but Jesus says, “I will be with you.”

This week, since I got hired at the same organization my mom works at, we went to our Christmas work party. I stepped into the bathroom soon after we got there. For a brief second, I looked in the mirror. As I saw myself standing there, I thought, had Dad not died, I wouldn’t be here. I nearly had a job in Virginia and had that not come through, I had another prospective job in North Carolina. But, I knew, I needed to stay put. It was too much to move. That night at the bowling alley was a complete gift. My Dad was not far from my Mom’s and my memory, we miss him every day, but we had so much fun and we were together.

And then last night, my mom and I went out book shopping and to get coffee. It was another gift. The loss of my Dad has brought about a lot of family time and although we all want my Dad back and would give everything to have him back, we have become so much closer. I just want to be around and with my family all the time- it doesn’t matter what we are doing as long as we are together.

So, I think I’m starting to see a little twinge of the good. The good does not erase the pain. But the good is a cup of coffee with my mom. The good is a night of basketball with my sisters and brother-in-law. The good is getting frosty’s on a night when we all miss dad. The good is watching a movie with my sister, or a hug from my nephews, or a little niece following me around before work to make sure she’s ready too.

And, I’m sure there will be other good in the future that I cannot see right now, but for now, this is the good I’m holding on to.

 

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Fighting Fear: Through Surrender

INTRODUCTION:
As I began thinking of this topic, I knew I had to ask Linda. To me, she is a quiet warrior. She loves her husband and family well. There are things she faces that often times, heaven is the only one to hear of it. One Sunday, I was able to sit next to her during worship, and I opened my eyes, I can’t remember why, but I’m glad I did. I saw Linda with her hands raised. She was worshipping with her whole heart. She probably hates that I’m writing this, but time and time again, I have been challenged by her faith. I have also been lifted back up through her encouragement. This post was a challenge for her. After reading it, I know you will understand why. However, I could not hold back the tears after I read it. We serve an amazing God, and He truly is worthy of every breath we are given. Thank you, Linda, for being an amazing sister, friend, and encourager.

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I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to look back. It still hurts, the tears might come back.

 

I remember that night. Everything was quiet and dark: a few footsteps in the hall and sleep nowhere to be found. I had asked the nurse earlier what all the numbers meant. I needed to know which ones were important and which ones were not. 93. Her coloring was good. She finally calmed down. 92. She looks so peaceful. When is that tech coming back? 91. Has it been 4 hours yet? Wonder what they can give her next. 90. That nurse told me she would check on her. Where is she? 89. Do I dare leave and get the nurse? What if she needs me?

I left and got the nurse. They came and gave my baby some oxygen to get her levels back up to a safe range. They never reached 100 but at least she was getting what she needed.

 

The next 2 years were spent with daily breathing treatments, ER visits, and weekly doctors’ appointments. Some days I lived in 4-hour windows. Treatment to treatment, praying she would make it and not need to go to the ER. I blamed myself. Maybe I ate wrong, maybe my house was too dirty, maybe there was more I could do. I feared losing her. I feared that it would be my fault.

 

During those times, I cried out to God. My hands were in fists, ready to fight the next asthma attack. But over time, I learned you can’t get oxygen into your lungs when you panic and hyperventilate. I also learned you can’t accept God’s gifts with clenched hands. I learned to let go. I let my heart tearfully worship that we had another round of medicine available to us even when healing didn’t come. I learned to enjoy THIS one and only day because tomorrow was never promised.

 

When the dark nights came and my daughter would be fearful, we memorized “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power (Make a muscle), love (cross your arms over your chest) and a sound mind (point to your head)” 2 Timothy 1:7 I had to take this to heart as well because so many days I was crumbling inside. My faith in God grew stronger in this season. I came to realize God loves my little girl so much more than I can fathom. He has numbered her days. My job is to care for her until His plans take her elsewhere. Peace came in trusting Him.

 

Amazingly, 2 years after she was diagnosed, we go the OK to take her off all medicines. I was excited but nervous. We had a family trip planned to out of the country. 2 weeks would be fine, I thought, but packed all her medicines and machine just in case. A few days into our trip and I knew she was struggling. I pulled out everything and got her set up. I flipped the switch on and the machine started smoking and quit working. The adapter we brought failed. In a moment where time freezes, I just prayed. “Lord where in the world do we find a doctor to order a machine in this country we don’t belong to without insurance? And in enough time before she is in a full blown attack?”

 

I got my husband and he headed off to find a pharmacy. I did something I had never done before. I crawled into bed with my daughter and opened my Bible. The only thing I could remember was Psalm 139. Instead of reading it normally, I added my daughter’s name. I told her these were written for her.

“Oh Lord, you have searched Abi and know Abi. You know when she is sitting and rising up.(1)… You formed Abi’s inward parts: you covered her in Mommy’s womb. I will praise you, for Abi is fearfully and wonderfully made (13)…” We read it all. I held on to those words like I never had before. They were words of life, truth, and hope. We had just finished the passage when my husband walked in. He was back so soon, I thought it was bad news. Instead, he held out his hands, and in them was a brand new machine! Unlike the USA, with insurance, regulations, prescriptions, in this country, you could walk to the pharmacy and buy a new machine no questions asked! God’s provision blew me away.

 

My fear of losing her and “what if?” still pops up. But over and above those fears are the stories of God’s faithfulness. I would have never experienced His love and compassion and purpose if we hadn’t walked through the trials. I struggled to walk back to this season. I didn’t want to bring up those old fears but it reminded me of His steady hand through all of it and His eyes who see what lies ahead.

Song of the Week: Spirit of the Living God, by Vertical Church Band
Listen Here

 

The Faces I Cannot Forget

***This is dedicated to the Iraqi family I met in Jordan almost a year ago, and to all the refugees scattered all over the world…

I attempted to write a poem about your suffering … 

Then I realized….

I don’t know what it’s like…

I don’t know the fear you lived every time you heard the whistle of a missile. 

I don’t know the panic you endured when you’d hear the destruction of another home… praying it wasn’t someone you knew…. 

I don’t know how many tears you cried… Or how many you couldn’t anymore after you lost loved one after loved one, friend after friend. 

I don’t know how many unseen wounds you carry around on a daily basis… 

I don’t know how if feels to not only lose friends and loved ones, but also your country….

I don’t know how it feels to lose a livelihood, freedom and choice…

I don’t know how it feels to be at the mercy of another people group – another country…

I don’t know how it feel to be stripped away from the language you and your family have spoken for generations, and now having to learn a new one…. 

I’m sorry I have not understood … I cannot imagine your pain… I don’t know what it’s like to suffer like you have, but I know one who did… 

I pray that in the midst of your pain… in the midst of this dark hour… you would know you’re not alone… The one who made you… The one who fashioned your eyes, hands, feet and body…. loves you. 

And until I meet you, you are in my heart… please don’t give up… you have a story the world needs to hear… the lessons of traveling through this dark valley needs to be taught…. 

I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for your courage…