The screen of my phone showed large white numbers against the swirl of its green background.
5:32
Friday, October 2nd
The regular business hours are long minutes past now.
This will be the last time I pick up my phone and stare at the time for a while. My heart sinks as I accept the knowledge that there will most likely be no calls this week from Chase’s doctors. The waiting for this week has now officially timed out and all I can pray for is that the calls or emails or messages come through sometime next week – hopefully early next week.
This is not the week that Bob and I will learn why he keeps having seizures and what his EEG said about his brain waves.
This is not the day we will learn why he keeps bruising so easily and irregularly.
And sometimes I feel anger, but mostly, I just want to cry and cry out the building pressure because I count the bruises every day and I watch the concern on the phlebotomist’s face when he pulled the needle out of Chase’s hand on Friday morning and it takes longer than usual to stop the flow of blood as it soaks the gauze. And I want my phone to ring because I hate the reality of listening to Chase on his Google classroom call taking a reading assessment and tapping out for a few seconds to have a seizure and then going back to trying to read.
Life feels more wearisome than usual in this season. And while there is nothing terribly wrong, things do not feel terribly right either.
I hate the purgatory of the wait in that gray, lukewarm space. There are moments I plead with God because surely knowing something horrific would be better than knowing nothing at all.
Surely this is no fit way to pass the year, God. Surely this doesn’t work out well for any of us… for my heart, for Chase’s body, for your reputation, God.
This seems impossible. Inscrutable.
And dear ones, there doesn’t feel like a good way to end these thoughts in this moment because my phone is still sitting silent on my bedside table and the pit of my stomach still somersaults every time I think about it lighting up with the hospital number sometime this next week.
What if there’s bad news?
How might I feel about good news?
What if there’s no news at all and the answer is just to wait some more? …to watch a little longer yet?
I still want to cry my eyes out and I fight God a lot of the days and nights with these questions and many others like them. But today, I watched the livestream of a church brother stand behind the solid wood of the pulpit and bring my whole house of expectations and waiting down around me with these words about God’s impossible ways:
“Perhaps you have been on a flight, arriving at your destination, or at least above your destination. You are ready to begin your descent, but instead of descending, you wind up circling in the air. You can see the city below. It’s right there! You can see the lights! And perhaps you think ‘Why are we circling around forever? This seems pointless! We are literally just going around in circles!’ But we cannot see what air traffic control sees: six flights arriving at the same time, or a patch of turbulence just below, or snow plows clearing the runway. Calling the the Creator God to account for his sovereign, wise, but often inscrutable ways is like calling air traffic control to account while in a holding pattern. […] For our true life is not in demonstrating that God is somehow wrong in His decisions or apparent inactivity. Neither is our truest life or most enduring joy tied to becoming well informed on all the ins and outs of God’s hidden purposes. […] Our best good lies in God exercising his inscrutable wisdom as Creator and His incomparable mercy as redeemer for the everlasting good of us and of all creation.”
Dr. Dan Brendsel
In other words, the story is still unfolding. And just because it feels still doesn’t mean it has stopped moving. There are just layers we cannot yet see.
I still hate the wait, but I am encouraged in the reminder that it not forever.
In a holding pattern, it is disorienting and the minutes can feel like hours, but it is never so very long before you are safely home again. So we will wait a while longer yet…
Moment by moment.
Many times I have wrestled with God and asked those questions. Surely healing would serve the kingdom (and the person I’m praying for) better. What a testimony it would be if God just (insert whatever I’m praying for) and then more people would believe in Him. I mean, come on God, Your Word says, “By His stripes we ARE HEALED!” Not maybe healed, not can be healed, ARE HEALED. So why doesn’t He heal? Why? Why? Why? And there is no answer. At least none that truly satisfies our anxious hearts. But God sees what we cannot. He knows what we can’t even comprehend. That this world is not our home. That what lies ahead is far better than this present life which is but a shadow of what He has prepared for us. Each tear and prayer draws our heart closer to the One Who holds us in the palm of His hand. I too have prayed for healing. And the healing came, but not this side of heaven. And I couldn’t understand why. I still don’t. But I know that I know that I know that He loves me and His plan is for my good. But not always the good that I wanted or prayed for. Trusting Him is hard. But we trust Him because we know He is our Hope. Our job is to pray and leave the rest up to Him. I’m reminding God today His Word says that by His stripes we are healed and that Chase needs healing. Keep your eyes on Jesus. And keep praying. He loves you and He is still good. Even when we don’t understand. Hugs and prayers.
I don’t know you. I don’t know Chase. But I do know God and I am praying.