“We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.”
(~C. S. Lewis)
The sobs came uncontrolled last night as I pounded the couch with my fist. “I hate it.” I cried to Brian. “I hate cancer. HATE IT. I hate what it’s done to me, to us, to our children.”
We had just decided to pull our kids from Vacation Bible School because there is sickness rampant throughout the group, and I can’t risk them getting sick and getting me sick. We were doing what’s best, but it didn’t feel best. It felt awful, and I couldn’t bear the thought of my children’s faces when we told them. The disappointment. The tears.
Y’all, my children are amazing. They listened to Bri explain what was going on, and all of them hugged me and said they’d rather not go and risk me getting sick either.
A. ma. zing. Their maturity blows me away. They have walked through the fire and have grown because of it.
Later that night I called down to Brian who was still up. Something wasn’t right. And I spent the whole night thinking I was going absolutely insane because of a reaction to one of my medications. It was horrible. We finally fell asleep at 5:00 in the morning only for me to wake at 8:30 nauseated and unable to keep anything down. Fortunately, I had an appt. with my surgeon already, so we saw him later this morning. He reassured me the symptoms of the reaction should dissipate and I should feel better in the afternoon, which I have.
He also said my incision looks great, and I am healing well. But just because things look good on the outside, I’m not to forget how much work was done on the inside. There’s still a lot of healing to do.
I was able to rest this afternoon, and a sweet friend came and “Angie sat” with me while Mom ran some errands with the kids. When the phone rang, I picked it up, “Hi, Mom!”
She was crying. She had been in a car accident with the kiddos and couldn’t get in touch with Brian, and she didn’t know what to do.
There is a distress that I cannot even begin to describe that fell over me when I heard that tone in Mom’s voice. She and the children are uninjured, although our van is not. We are pretty sure it’s totaled.
But we are okay. We are all okay. And that is what matters. None of the rest matters.
We are so very, very thankful.
But we are exhausted and overwhelmed and not sure where to go from here. And we know we cannot stop.
That’s what I want to do. I want to stop and cry and weep and wail and scream and kick and I want to know when we will get a break.
Then I drink in huge breaths of air and I say what I’ve always said. God is still good. He is still on the throne.
Yesterday was a good day. Today was not.
Yesterday God was a good God. Today He is still the same.
And I cannot go anywhere else. I cannot trust anyone else. He is the only one to whom i can go.
I’m not feeling safe tonight. I’m feeling scared and tired and overwhelmed and exhausted.
And today is one of those days where going to God doesn’t feel safe.
After all, as Mr. Tumnus says of Aslan is in The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe… “He is not a tame lion…”
“No,” says Lucy, “But He is good.”
So tonight I will cling to what I have always clung to… God is here. Emmanuel. God with us.
And we are okay. We are all okay. We will be okay.
And God is good. No matter what. Always and forever.