Faithful Paradox

There are times my mind wanders. Maybe it’s that I’m tired or maybe it’s that the sadness that is often in the shadows steps more fully into the light for a bit. It could be that at times, I grow weary of the battle for joy or it’s simply that I am a mom who still wishes things ended differently. Regardless of why, there are some days my mind seems to go of its own accord to places that are simply not helpful: The spaces of what if and why.

I found my mind battling this space over the weekend. Did I do something that could have been prevented which led to Ezra’s sickness? Did I eat the wrong things when I was pregnant or did I feed him the wrong food as a toddler that set up the chain of mutations that led to his cancer? Was he exposed to some toxin that could have been prevented? Did I make the wrong choices for him; allow medications or interventions that opened up the door for his body to begin to break down? Had we tried some alternative treatments rather than the normal therapies, would he still be with us? My mind began a cascade of unwanted thoughts and questions.

These moments are painful. Yet these moments reveal a heart that still, at times, believes the lie that somehow she is in control. It’s a heavy weight to hold; an unhelpful practice that bears no fruit at all other than a rotten harvest.

In his kindness, when these thoughts begin to assault my mind, the Spirit is quick to remind me that “all the days ordained for Ezra were written in my book before one of them came to be” (Psalm 139:16). God ordains our days. He ordained Ezra’s days before he was ever conceived. God ordained that Ezra should live 6,715 days. Not one more, not one less.

I am reminded that Ezra’s number of days never changed; it was simply my expectation and hope that had to change. I had hoped Ezra’s days would be closer to 30,000. I had hoped I would not see the end of his days, expected he would see mine. I had hoped it would be different than it was. I still ache with the reality of this loss. Yet the number of days Ezra lived, although unexpected to me, was no surprise to God. It was his plan from the very beginning.

I’m grateful that in these moments, where the battleground of my mind feels like it gives way to questions, that the Spirit reminds me there is nothing that I could have done differently to change the number of days that God chose for Ezra. His length of days was never in my control. Every day we had, every day I still have, is simply grace.