If tears were my song

It started much like any trip home from Peoria had these last couple weeks; a bunch of chatter in the back seat from Jada who is constantly inquiring of me an explanation of something. However, as the radiation and chemo take their cumulative affect on Jada, we are noticing increased fatigue. She says to me after we drive about 2 blocks, "Dad, I am exhausted from this stuff, I am going to take a quick nap." That's it, she's out.

Earlier that evening I had snuck into the control room for the radiation oncology department where I snapped this photo of Jada from a monitor. Hard to watch is one thing, pain is another, anguish is likely the nearest English equivalent for the emotion I was experiencing. It gained strength as we headed to the car and began the drive home.

By the time we were crossing the bridge, I was shedding tears at a rate which makes driving difficult and breathing labored. This whole thing still has that element to it - - - the one where it creeps up on you without notice. Jada slept and I had some Kari Jobe (Jada's favorite singer) playing softly in the background. I got home and carried Jada from the car (the radiation saps her strength and although she can walk she prefers to be carried) to the couch. Her stay on the couch was not long as she was quickly acquainted with "her bucket." She kept that little life saver close for the next 3 hours as she hovered over it while I rubbed her and read Genesis 17-19 to her (She and I were having a disagreement earlier about the order of Abram's name change to Abraham...I happened to win that one). We had reinforcements with Diane Imig (who comes to administer one shot to Jada per evening), but it was a painful evening.

I went to bed thinking, "Lord, this is week 1 of 30 or so. Weary needs to be transformed into a more powerful word...possibly with a metaphor attached to really drive home the intensity of the emotions inside." In the purest sense I was asking for someone to validate my grief and make much of me - or at the very least - remind us of the promise of God in suffering and trial. The ultimate GOAL is hope which is poured into our hearts by God through the Holy Spirit (see Rom. 5:5).

So, my heart races to catch hold of the knowledge my head contains but will not easily relinquish (if for no other reason than the enemy's use). My lovely wife was now long asleep and therefore an excellent prayer target. I grab her hand gently and pray for the Lord's strength and that the Holy Spirit would do His job to remind us of all we have been taught (read John 14-16 to see this truth explained from the mouth of Jesus).

As my own head finally hit the pillow I thought of two final things worth sharing: one, Jessica and I are in the thick of it right now and our response, however hard it may be, is not in our own strength. JESUS IS OUR VICTORY...even if that victory is only climbing up the stairs to make a cup of coffee to get our day rolling after minimal sleep. To think otherwise is among the gravest of sins and really a marker of tremendous pride - an all out affront against the Spirit which actually grieves Him. To quote Francis Chan, "I pray for the day when believers care more about the Spirit's grief than their own."

Secondly, I continue to have the conviction of the LORD in my reading of the word. Particularly, the story of Sarah and Isaac struck me and has been wrestling my sense of composure (spiritual composure or always having it together) to the ground. Here's how: Sarah and Abraham had to be told NUMEROUS TIMES that the covenant was with them and God WOULD provide a son (I actually did not count - forgive me, we are short on time these days). Yet, they still tried to forcibly square-peg-round-hole the covenant into existence. Always gentle, always loving, God continues to take them back and explain Himself again. God is like that with me. Sure, I grow weary and discouraged - but I am realizing that it is the definitive pause at the top of his swing before the hammer comes down again to drive the truth even further into my heart.

This is what I put forward for your consideration tonight... if tears were your song (and God's definitive pause) what would be their refrain? "God, you don't understand how hard this is, why me, I HATE how this ALWAYS seems to happen to me." O R "For you are my lamp, O Lord, and my God lightens my darkness." (II Sam. 22:29).