I remember...

Its been said before and it will certainly be said again, clinic days are never our favorite. Yesterday Jada and I set out for clinic to have bloodwork done and see about possible admission for chemo. As is our custom, Jada and I spent the first 5-10 minutes of the trip discussing any fears she may have and then we pray.

As we stepped into the clinic we immediately saw Jada's favorite friend Cora (side-note: if you don't know Cora, you really must. She's a sweet girl who loves Jesus and is going through this living nightmare a 2nd time with all the grace that only God can supply...her parents are pretty great too) and settled in. To get turned away from clinic for admission is not uncommon for us, happening at least 4 times. The day went much as it always does: crying children, questions from Jada about how long things will take, GREAT conversations with parents and nursing staff about the Gospel and so on.

Imagine our disappointment (still half expecting it) when we were told Jada's counts were too low to be admitted AND she'd have to have a transfusion - a minimum of a 3 hour extension to our time already spent at clinic. I called Jess, returned our packed bags to the car, and settled in for the afternoon. When all was said and done, we made our way to the car after we shared our secret shake - Jada and I have created the "cheek it, lip it, love it" (she kisses me on the cheek, lips then hugs me) - just one more way to provide comfort in a time where its very presence is at a premium.

What happened once we began driving home is that which has cemented my view of Jesus entering into human suffering. Jada says as we pull out of the parking deck and staring blankly off into space, "I remember the first time we came here, that was sure a struggle." "Really, do you struggle with much now," I say. She carefully replies, "well, there are certain things I don't like to take because it tastes weird, but you know dad - going to clinic, getting chemo, its all pretty fun." At that point my jaw was dragging on Glen Oak Ave. "Jada, do you think all the blessings of God in this (I explained what that meant on her terms) have made it fun?" Yes dad, because it shows that he really, really loves us."

In John 11 Jesus' good friend dies and the shortest verse in the Bible contains one of the deepest truths. "Jesus wept." This verse has been of immeasurable comfort as of late for us. It means that the outcome (death overcome) would produce immense joy which of course Jesus knew. Yet, moved as he was by the whole scene at the home of Lazarus, he still wept. His love is so deep and so pure that compassion has always been one of its most defining characteristics. God did not set this world into motion with one fail swoop of sovereignty . . . He is presently and actively sovereign. He knows your outcome (whatever you may be experiencing) but He still weeps, as it were, because compassion is in the very fabric of His DNA.