Faithful Paradox

There are days that I have a direction that I want to explore as I write. Words come easily and connect together like a child’s first puzzle; I can see exactly how each piece will fit together with very little effort. And then there are days like today, where I have deep grief, deep anxiety, deep sadness, deep feelings and there seems to be no way to connect the puzzle pieces. So, in an attempt to unravel my own confused heart and mind this morning, I write. I’m curious to see where this post goes.

I awoke this morning full of anxiety and sadness. My mind felt tortured in my last hour of sleep as terrifying thoughts and dreams jumped in and out of my partial wakefulness. As I sat on the couch with my Bible and my coffee upon waking, which is my normal morning rhythm, I prayed and asked God to help. Help me in my fear and anxiety, help me in my grief, help me to know and actually believe that no matter what has come or will come, he will be with me and that is enough. I do believe, help my unbelief!

I have not yet read the book, “The Body Keeps the Score,” (although it is on my list of books I’d like to read), but I can’t help but wonder if my body remembered what my mind had not yet recognized? As I sat, I realized today is June 30. Ezra relapsed 2 years ago today. Two years ago today is the day that Chopin’s Marche Funèbre (Funeral March) began playing ever so quietly in the background of my mind. As days and weeks progressed, it grew louder and louder. The hope we had in our son’s healing began to slip through our fingers like sand. The hope we had for his future, for our family, for what our lives would look like, fell apart and we were left with a pile of broken dreams, dashed hopes, confused hearts, and shaken faith. Today is the day that the world began to truly darken and, in all honesty, has not yet become as bright again. Today is the day that weeping began in the night and the promised joy in the morning has yet to arrive.

Hope is hard for me. I know theologically that it’s hard because I hope in the wrong things. I hope for healing rather than hoping in the Healer. I hope for provision rather than hoping in the Provider. I hope for joy rather than hoping in the Joy-Giver. I hope for so many gifts that God can give rather than hoping in God himself. This is a concept that is so easy to see, express and understand theoretically, and yet one that I have not yet fully understood practically.

What does it mean to hope in God for healing, holding that healing with an open hand? I know God hates cancer; he hates it so much that he sent Jesus to do something about it. What does it mean to know that God hates something and yet he also allows it? I know there is hope in FUTURE healing; that one day all things will be restored for those who know Christ. But what does that mean for today? What does that mean for this moment, where dreams lie shattered and broken and healing didn’t come? When I miss my son every day. When my family is still limping along, trying to take the next step and the next, but not a day goes by that one of us is not affected by the loss of Ezra?

I feel confused about hope today. I feel confused about what that looks like. I can see how God has helped us endure. I can see how he has held us. I can see how we keep fighting to take one step and then another and I know that comes from God. But what does hope look like? If I’m being honest, hope is hard for me. At times right now, God’s promises feel more like empty placations. He will restore the years the locusts have eaten (Joel 2:25). Weeping may last for the night but joy will come in the morning (Psalm 30:5). God is making all things new (Rev 21:3). God will wipe away every tear and death will be no more (Rev 21:4). God provides strength that will never fail (Deut 31:8). We are blessed when we persevere (James 1:12). God will restore, making us strong, firm and steadfast (1 Peter 5:10).

I believe that the Bible is God’s Word. I believe it is true and God cannot and does not lie. But I feel deeply confused right now about how these promises help me today? There is a future hope, but how does a future hope soothe the aching heart today? Of this, I’m not sure.

I guess if I’m being honest, I’m scared to hope again because I know I will have misplaced hope again and I know that when that hope doesn’t come to fruition, I will again be left confused and crushed. It’s hard to hope for good. The Bible says that hope deferred makes the heart sick (Prov 13:12) and right now, in a futile attempt to keep my heart from growing more sick, it seems easier to try to squelch hope. Maybe, just maybe, if I can refuse to hope, it will protect my heart.

But I know this is foolish. I know it’s not what God has. He has made us to hope. He has made us resilient because he has made us to reflect his very heart. From the beginning of time, God laid a plan of hope for all humanity; the hope of Jesus. For centuries, it was a hope unfulfilled as his people waited for their Messiah. And now, for centuries, it remains a different hope, as we wait for Jesus to come back.

Maybe we are not meant to really understand hope right now because as we wait and as we wrestle and as we let go of dreams and things we thought life would look like, God is helping us let go of this earth which has never been our home anyway. Maybe the longing for hope and all the confusion that comes with it is intended to create confusion and discontent because with that confusion and discontent comes a longing to understand and a realization that one day, we will. Maybe the darkness of the confusion and grief is where I need to find comfort because it’s in this darkness that faith germinates and grows.

I don’t know. It all feels hard and confusing and today is a day of remembering and grieving and longing for things that will never be. Today is a day of lament, crying out to God that things are not as they ought to be. Today is a day of grieving that God’s answer was no and I still feel deeply sad about the fact that he said no. Today is a day that tears are like food and the night feels long. Maybe, just maybe, joy will come in the morning. I don’t know. I do know that as I wait, I long more and more for Jesus to come and make things right, and maybe that’s what God has wanted all along.