Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. James 1:2-4
I am sitting here in the dark with only the soft light of the Christmas tree illuminating my keyboard. As I type, my seven-year-old daughter has been battling pneumonia for a week, my mother is battling Myelodysplastic Syndrome, and my father is in atrial fibrillation. It has been a difficult year. Check that, it has been a difficult decade.
“Do you want to know the average?” I leveled my gaze at my mother as the doctor’s words penetrated my brain. We all sat motionless for a moment. “Do you want the big picture?” I asked her. “Yes,” she said. NO! NO!, NO!, I screamed inside my head. This is not happening.
I left the room and stood in the same hallway where countless others had likely called to share similar news to their own loved ones. I fished my cell phone out of my purse and dialed the numbers of my sister and then my prayer partner, relaying everything the doctor had written on the little whiteboard on the back of the exam room door.
Myelodysplastic Syndrome. I had never heard of it. All that mattered in that moment was the fact that the trajectory of our lives had just changed dramatically. None of this was supposed to happen for at least another ten years. For crying out loud, my grandmother just passed away at the age of ninety-one only one year earlier. How was it possible that my mother was sick now?
When I was in elementary school, my gerbil escaped from his cage. Knowing I could not concentrate, my mom hunted until she found him and then drove to school to celebrate with me over lunch. When I was in middle school, I forgot to put on makeup. My mother knew how fragile my self worth was at this time and drove me home so I could fix it. When I was in high school, my mother let me skip school to get a tan. You see, just two years earlier, I had dropped out, and now, a sweet young man had asked me to the prom at the very school I had left. I was now doing well in a new school, and she saw how it important it was to me to walk triumphantly through the doors of my old building.
My mother has taught me so much. She has shown love, grace, patience, and restraint I can’t fathom. She and I have fought great fights, laughed until we could not breathe, and cried rivers of tears together. She spent many hours on her knees for me. She asked others to join her in the spiritual battle the enemy waged on my soul. She refused to hand me over, knowing that truth of Jesus Christ would set me free.
Not once in my life has everything worked out just as I envisioned. In an instant everything can change. For almost a year now, I have watched this disease wreak havoc on my mom. With a broken back, she has endured chemotherapy and spent many days short of breath. It’s hard, it’s painful. It just plain sucks.
I have tried so many times to write these words. Type then delete, type then delete.
Why? Words are inadequate to describe my gratitude to my Lord and Savior.
It makes no sense to be grateful when the storms of life are threatening to drown me. It makes no sense to be thankful when I am watching the woman who is dearest to me suffer. It makes no sense when I am frustrated that my sweet baby girl can’t shake this fever. At least, it makes no sense when we use logic and reason to try to understand.
I am sitting in the light of a Christmas tree because a Jewish man was born two thousand years ago to save me. He came in flesh and bone to endure an unimaginable death so that you and I would not have to. He died, but then He rose and conquered death. I am sitting in gratitude because no matter how hard life gets, I see Him everywhere. I see His hand on everything. I hear Him whispering, “I am with you.”
He sees you too. He loves you too. He came for you too. Give it up sister.
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