Saturday, 13 December 2014

When The Healing Doesn't Come.

I have friends on my mind. Multiple friends.

I don't think any of my friends are entirely unscarred; we are, mostly, the walking (or wheeling) wounded, limping along and praising God. Ignoring the mountains and tripping over the molehills.

Bereavement, disability, infertility, chronic and incurable health conditions, abuse and intolerance and marital breakdowns and general horrific life stuff. I think we're all well used to the idea that following God doesn't magically inoculate anyone against major life woes. I think we've also all met people who have experienced the miraculous; illnesses turned around, lives changed, tumours vanished. Hallelujah for each and every single one, and this post isn't intended to criticise any of the good stuff.

But I'm thinking tonight of the modern day Jobs I know. Families (more than one) who have adopted a child, only for that child to die, or be diagnosed with a terminal illness, and not just once, but twice or even more. Families struggling with the needs of their disabled child, only for the parents to develop health conditions of their own, followed by siblings of the disabled child. Families where the death of one child is chased by the illness of another, woes upon woes upon woes. Where the foundations of family life are pulled apart, one brick at a time, until only bare earth remains.

How is it possible that I know of more than one family where a sibling to a profoundly disabled child has lost their own sight?

I could trot out some platitudes about how God doesn't give us more than we can handle. But I'm pretty sure most of these families know exactly how true that isn't, and know how much more than they can handle is being thrown at them, day after day after day. I could try saying that where there's life, there's hope; but I also know how hopeless some of my friends are feeling right now, and honestly? I'm not sure I'd be hopeful in their situations either.

There's an assumption that some kind of major negative life event ought to cover you. That one Really Bad Thing ought to be enough, and that, having been through the worst, the rest ought to be better and better. And I see so many families drowning under the evidence that it really doesn't work that way. Whilst other families go through something similarly awful, or significantly less awful, and then having been thoroughly scared by the what might have beens, go on to live a beautiful and rich and altogether lovely life. Which is great, but not for those who are still swamped by the ever rising tide of awful.

There's a lot of pressure on these families to somehow make it all be good. To find some kind of simple meaning in what's happening, to give hope to those around them, to protect their friends and supporters and acquaintances. I'm sure no one means to pile on the pressure. But every "Have you tried...", every "What about...", every "Oh a friend had that and they did this" just piles on the torment. Even a simple "So how's it going?" is exhausting when the answer is the same, or worse, than it was the week before and the week before that, and the week before that. And the week before that. Even if it's the last thing on the asker's mind, the act of dashing the hope for good news, having to recap the awfulness, bringing the situation back into the forefront of the mind, when it might have temporarily been pigeonholed behind closed doors to allow for a brief moment of thoughts of something else is just plain exhausting. When it's not devastating.

Waiting on God is hard work. Railing against God is even harder work, and possibly not helpful, but I do know He can take it; if his hands can hold the whole world, then his shoulders are definitely broad enough to absorb all the anger and sadness and frustration and fury and fear that's thrown his way. And I'm absolutely certain He'd rather hear all about it directly, than hear us all muttering to each other about the generally massive unfairness of it all whilst trying to avoid laying the blame at his door. And that's possibly just me, maybe my friends are much too mature to be doing any of that.

It's hard, being helpless. Knowing that absolutely nothing I can do can help, or change what's happening. I can watch Imogen on a difficult day (and there are some very difficult days now), and wonder how many more breaths she has left, scared that I might be counting her very last ones. And I can watch her on her better days, and celebrate the singing and the shouting, and revel in the smiles. And know that I have too many friends who aren't having any better days right now, and my own joy is bittersweet.

In my head, these past few days, the phrase "This is the year of The Lord's favour" (Isaiah 61). And this has been an amazing year for me. God is good, God has poured out amazing things on us this year. Deepening friendships, abundant rainbows, and two daughters still with me; not something I expected to be the case this time last year. I'm profoundly thankful, and profoundly confused - how about a little less for me, and a little (or a lot) more for my drowning friends? I wish I understood.

A story from a speaker back in February. I'm sorry, I don't remember who. The essence of the story; a baby with meningitis, a night of prayer and torment in hospital, a miraculous turnaround, and a family singing and praising God in the morning as they came home with a healthy baby; nice neat prayers being answered. And the question "Would you still praise if you'd been coming home without your baby?" My friend and I - who have both lost children - looked at each other and answered "well we did." Because we know, even when we don't understand, that God is Good. All the time, even in the moment of the unthinkable awfulness. And He remains good, even in the decade of awfulness some of my friends are living through. God is Good. It's a good job it's a short sentence; when things are hideous longer convoluted thoughts are just too complicated.

I don't understand. It isn't fair. My friends have suffered enough. My girls have suffered enough, if it comes to that, although this isn't really about them.

I want to make it better. I can't. And by trying, I only end up making it worse. All I can do is pray.

A friend will text me occasionally at three o'clock in the morning. One word; "Pray." I don't need the details, I don't even need to know which friend it is (and I don't always, as she sometimes has to borrow someone else's phone). Doesn't matter, because God knows exactly who and where and what and why and how. Sometimes a friend needs to know I'm praying for them. Other times, I think knowing that you are being prayed for adds its own pressures; it is a very hard thing to believe yourself to be somehow responsible for the faith of others. And unanswered prayer is a hard thing to live with.

I do know this though. That as certainly as God is Good, no prayer is ever ever wasted or unheard. I may never understand the reasons why some prayers are answered in such awesomely amazing ways, whilst others appear to be flat out denied (and I'll never believe it's as simple as Yes, No, or Wait - the God who intervened at the Tower of Babel surely has unlimited vocabulary up his sleeve). But my own understanding isn't what's important here. God is Good and Prayers are Heard.

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
    because the Lord has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
    to proclaim freedom for the captives
    and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
    and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
    and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
    a planting of the Lord
    for the display of his splendor.
They will rebuild the ancient ruins
    and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities
    that have been devastated for generations.

9 comments:

Caz said...

Thank you for writing Tia.

Paul Brombley said...

Thank you for this. I know those where it is just part of life, and those where it is more and I cry out with you. I know those where God miraculously intervenes and those where he does not. I don't understand it, but I will continue pray. I will celebrate where the miraculous happens, and I will cry with those where it does not.

pippinsmum said...

Tia, this is so hard, I have friends who had a perfectly healthy son a year ago, then he was diagnosed with melanoma. He had a wife and young baby, despite all the care of the Doctors, the treatment and the prayers he died in October. These things are so hard to understand.
It is hard to remember that God is completely in control when so much goes wrong and it seems relentless.
When we walk through the valley of the shadow of death God is in there with us.
Praying for you and your girls,and your friends
Pat

erin2nicole said...

You have such a beautiful way with words and articulate so well. My thoughts and prayers are with you and yours. Love to the girls xx

Meggy Robertson said...

Yes. Thank you for this.
We are praying for Imogen and for all of you.
Seeing your child suffering is the most incredible pain.

Kezzie said...

Hello there,
God bless you for a wonderful heart and a strong faith. Please know you have inspired and touched my heart today by reading this and I will add you and your children to my prayers. You are a blessing.

I popped over from Frugal Queen's comment stream deciding I wanted to visit any new bloggers I came across today and so glad I did.
Lovely to 'meet' you.
Merry Christmas!x

Karin Henn said...

"God is good and prayers are heard." Even in the dark. Even when the answer is "no" or "not yet."

Thank you for writing this.

Blessings to you.

Tina said...

And every day I give thanks for you xxx

Helen said...

Catching up as suddenly realized I've not been keeping up. Am so very pleased to call you my friend

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