It's been a grueling, sorrowful week for several families who are dealing with children injured in tragic accidents. And we've been doing the only--but most powerful--thing we can do: pray. Pray earnestly and constantly. We know that we serve a God of all goodness, all power, all wisdom. We know He can heal. And sometimes He does so in miraculous, glorious ways.
But sometimes He doesn't. And in those moments we're left to wonder...and weep...but ultimately, finally, to trust the sovereign, severe mercy and ways of the Lord. He is God. We are not. And some things will have to await our understanding in heaven.
Yet in all this I've been reminded of a moment years ago as I sat right here in this very living room where I'm now sitting. It was late March, nearly 13 years ago exactly from this day. Our family was eating dinner around our big, round kitchen table when the phone rang. It was my dear sister, Jane, giving us the news we'd been dreading...we'd been praying fervently against. Our wonderful Daddy's cancer had spread from his lungs to his brain and was now unstoppable, untreatable. The end was at hand.
We'd just lost our remarkable Mama less than a year and a half earlier of a shockingly sudden ruptured aorta. Then less than two months later we learned Daddy had cancer. As Daddy said at the time, "We're going through a rough patch." And it got rougher--another family member diagnosed with cancer; dearly beloved cousin, uncle and aunt going home to be the Lord; Daddy's brave, hard battle against not only his cancer, but also terrible sadness over losing Mama. It was, indeed, a rough patch.
But time and again, the Lord brought us through. When you're going through a rough patch, you eventually come out on the other side. It's a patch--not an infinite abyss. And God does bring you through to the other side--scarred, yes...but wiser, stronger, deeper, richer in gratitude and grace.
Yet this phone call, this moment, simply seemed too much for me. I hung up from my sister, walked into the living room and wept. "It's too much, Lord. Too much. To lose another deeply loved pillar of my life? I can't do it. Can't go through another visitation with all those tears. Can't go through another funeral. Can't even begin to think about bearing it all. No way."
As I wept, it was one of those raw and remarkable moments when you seem to hear the very voice of God. As I sit here, I can still hear it. These were not my thoughts. No, this was from the throne of grace. And He seemed to say, "You don't have to bear it right now. Trust Me. When the time comes, I will give you the strength that you need to get through it. And you will even know My peace and joy in the midst of it all. But I'm not giving you that grace now. You have to trust that just like that manna in the wilderness, I will give you what you need when you need it. One day at a time. One moment at a time. And it will always be more than enough."
And He did. And He was. And He always will be.
The Lord carried our whole family through those hard, bittersweet last days with our Daddy in the hospital. And just as faithfully in the aftermath of the visiting with dear friends and family. And the funeral too. Our Heavenly Father quite simply carried us through all that loss and sorrow, and impossibly His manna seemed to meet our every desperate need for strength and peace and, yes, even joy.
It truly was "strength for today...and bright hope for tomorrow" as that great old hymn says. "Strength for today" meant strength for that day, that hour, that moment. And hope that He who so faithfully provided and carried us through that day, would be just as faithful, loving, kind, gracious, and good tomorrow as well.
And so we had hope. Great hope for our tomorrows.
The prophet, Jeremiah, wrote the book of Lamentations in what was surely one of the darkest and most desperate times in Israel's history. Israel defeated and decimated by the ruthless Babylonians. The nation destroyed, and her people either killed or taken prisoner into exile far from their promised land.
Yet in the midst of all that despair, the prophet's words rang out, a beacon of truth and stubborn hope: "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. The Lord is my portion, says my soul, therefore I will hope in Him." (Lam.3:22-24)
Yes, it's true!...though sometimes, you don't fully realize it, until you've come to that kind of a desperate, dark "rough patch." His love never ceases. His mercies never end...they are new--Every. Single. Morning. His faithfulness is great beyond measuring.
And therefore, we will hope in Him. Not hope in our circumstances. Not hope in the answers we want to our prayers. Not hope in getting what we want. Not hope in hope.
No, we hope in our faithful, perfect, all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving, all-good, all-kind, all-merciful Father. Our Heavenly Daddy. Our Abba.
And since He's got it--and He's got us--we've got hope, no matter our circumstances. Because great is His faithfulness--through every one of our rough patches and beyond. Faithful--today, tomorrow, and on into the forever future.
So thank You, Father, for Your daily manna that sustains and strengthens us in all of life's rough--and smooth--patches. Might all who are mired this day in sorrow or fear, place their hope in You, the ever-faithful Father. Give us eyes of faith and hearts of stubborn, gospel hope.
To God be the glory.
No comments:
Post a Comment