I realized something today as I sat in the sand wandering why God had taken you, trying to figure out the unfigurable. I remembered in the weeks before you went I sat on your hospital bed and we talked about your suffering, about the pain in your body, and in your heart. If Jesus had died for us, for our suffering, “It is finished”, the battle won, then why did we have to fast, keep pleading, and begging? We felt it was rubber hitting the road time, a chance to prove that it’s about what we believed, not what we do. We couldn’t “do” anything. Even the basics of life were being stripped away, the capacity to “do” gone. We had to believe that you would be healthy and whole. Thank God for it, still commit ourselves to Him, and be grateful for the hundreds praying, that was tangible, an incredible sense of being carried through a rough season.
Here’s the thing… the proving wasn’t for your healing, it was for mine.
I had hoped with all the hope I could muster that you would not only live, but live healed and whole. Well you are, just not in the way I wanted it, not how I’d hoped. To be honest my hope slipped then. I didn’t think you would die, leave me, or choose to go. I was alone. I still am, but I see now the believing is up to me, you already have your wholeness, now it’s my turn. I have to believe the same things now… Thank God for it, still commit myself to Him, and be grateful for the hundreds praying, it feels less tangible, but I think that’s because my heart carries a wound. So now I believe God that I will be healthy and whole, I will find hope, because He has already given it. The wound needs attention, it still gapes, often prone to infection and has debilitating side effects that all have the power to take me out. I will believe though, not much to “do” but I will choose to see the hope in a future unseen. I see God had me in mind all along, holding my hand, and waiting for me to see it.