I confidently clicked the link and waited impatiently for the page to load. Missionaries beheaded in Turkey for preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ. My heart fell into the deepest pit of my stomach and my throat stifled a threatening NO!! I knew exactly what David was asking me. Except I didn’t want to have to answer.
We were still just talking about a possible future together, he far away on an island in the gulf of Campeche, I safe and comfy on my creamy suede-covered double bed in a Raspberry Cordial painted room. The article was not him just sharing a piece of interesting, very tragic news in the modern Christian world. He was asking me one of the most serious questions to ever pass through my 17 year old brain. He was not asking me if I loved him, or if I wanted to be a missionary or if I’d mind living in Mexico. It went far beyond marriage and any sort of physical move I would potentially make. He was asking me if I was willing to give my all…my ALL for the gospel.
I crossed into the ring and started the fight. Yes God, I’ll go. Nooo….don’t ask me too much!!
I don’t recall how long I was in spiritual agony, only that it was exactly that. An agonizing wrestling match with my God and my Savior. I looked again and again at those nail pierced hands and chided my cowardice. How could I not say yes? I felt thrashed, totally demolished, but full of peace.
Several years later, I sat beside a hotel pool, my heart in shreds, my mind shackled in an absolute dungeon. Three blocks up the street, my nearly two month old, precious baby boy lay sedated in NICU, connected to life support, receiving dialysis and blood transfusions.
“You can’t have him!” I had been screaming for the past month. “He HAS to get better! He’s my baby and I want him here with me!” There was no way I was giving him up. “While there’s life, there’s hope” I’d say confidently, determined Damian’s Glory Day would be long after mine. But that afternoon I could take it no longer. His suffering, my suffering, David and the other children. I finally let the angel touch my thigh and I limped out, defeated. “Take him, Lord, if you choose. He is yours anyways.”
And He did. The next day, God sent His angels and lifted my baby from my arms to the arms of Jesus Christ. He went, listening to the lilting strains of
“See from His head, His hands and feet, sorrow and love flow mingled down, did e’er such love and sorrow meet or thorns compose so rich a crown?”Isaac Watts
and opened his little baby eyes to gaze into the face of the Savior.
I had fought but finally rescinded. God had won, and through the sorrow the deepest peace, that inexplicable peace that only God can give, coursed through my very empty arms.
Not long after we lost our little Damian, I found myself battling it out with the Lord again. We were being treated very wrongly, very unfairly, very carnally by men we thought we could have trusted. My heart rose in rebellion. It wasn’t fair. We were young, we lived so far away, we didn’t deserve this, we were still grieving. I wanted to make them pay, make them realize their utter horridness. Then, those searching words came again: are you willing to give me your all? It wasn’t life to death God was asking of me. He was asking for my living life. Every drop of it. When our financial aid was compromised, would I still trust Him? When our house and living location were attacked, would I stay and live out His call? When we were abandoned by so, so many, was He my everything? When our reputation, doctrinal beliefs and characters were brutally destroyed, could I leave the sorting out to the righteous Judge? Weeping, the kids eating cereal for dinner because I couldn’t emotionally manage anything more, I gave in to God again. Yes, Lord, I will live in poverty if you so choose, I will live abandoned, hated and humiliated for your Name’s sake, I will never forsake your work though all of Hell’s forces work to push me out. The future no longer mattered, I had found peace again with my God.
When I became oh, so sick, my nervous system a complete wreck, lupus destroying system after system, the old fight began again. Why me, Lord? Haven’t I suffered enough? Isn’t there some sort of limit to what you expect me to handle? Look at all those around me, they haven’t had to experience all this! Lying there, in too much pain to move, those ancient words of Psalm 73 soothed my ruffled soul. I went into the sanctuary, then understood their end. It wasn’t for me to dictate to God who should and should not have trials or pain, nor could I demand my preferred timeline of punishment. His will at that moment was to have me subjected, at His mercy, and to be totally ok with that. I had to stop fighting His perfect plan. If I was to serve Him and please Him through an inexplicable illness, then that was exactly what I was going to have to do. His peace again flowed through my tormented mind and broken body.
A couple weeks ago it became very apparent that unless something drastic changed in my body, I would mostly likely be dead before the end of the year. I couldn’t die! I have a husband, three precious little kids, my whole life still stretched before me. It wouldn’t be fair for our family to lose two members. How, oh Lord, how could this happen to us? I fought valiantly. Prayer yielded the slightly ambiguous answer: trust Me. I was desperate for something more specific. “For God is not unrighteous to forget your work and labor of love.” Then, “Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you.” I realized how weak my faith was. How much I depended upon myself, my medications, my doctors. I realized there was only one way to move forward-absolute, unequivocal, undoubting faith.
There were two counteracting issues that needed to be resolved. On Wednesday, one was resolved. On Thursday, the other. I would not die, and aside from that, I had been healed. Healed from an illness (pulmonary hypertension) all the doctors had said was not only incurable but degenerative as well. Oh, the joy, the relief, the peace that pervaded my fragmented soul! The goodness of God, without limit, without end!
Why do I share these distinct wrestlings with you? Why expose my own shameful sin and doubt? Why tell the world about intimate, painful experiences?
I have no answers except that when I started this blog, the Lord told me to tell you about Him. I want you to know how faithful, how loving, how merciful He is, no matter what trial you may be experiencing. I want you to know that His will is always sweet and His ways are always marvelous. You can safely cling to Christ through every dark valley, through each storm, through all those long nights.
Never would I choose to go through these things, never would I ask for such dark nights for supposed days. There were times I hated myself for how far from the Lord I must have been for Him to feel the need to call me so drastically. How cold, how proud, how self-sufficient!
And yet, looking back, I am thankful and humbled.
Our God is one of tender mercy who loves to draw His children close to His side. He sees through to the other side of life and patiently works our souls to burn the dross and shine the gold.
Incineration is never pretty. Here in the jungle, slash and burn is the preferred method for clearing farmland. It’s usually near impassable acreage, filled with dangerous snakes and scorpions, snagging thorns and poisonous plants. Burning is the only way. Walking passed the charred remains leaves a somewhat empty feeling inside, until you spot those neat, long rows of bright green corn, popping its frilly head above the carnage.
That’s what we’re looking for here: extermination of every useless, damaging habit to make way for the precious fruit of the Spirit. Like Jacob, may we stop our wrestling and limp forever, completely conformed to the walk He has chosen for our lives.