His daughter stood behind him with silent tears streaming down her face. He sat in the wheelchair in front of her, holding a blood soaked rag to his face. I couldn’t tell where the blood was actually coming from, his entire head was wounded. His daughter spoke bravely, holding back the tremor in her voice, explaining to the nurse that he had fallen while walking, she made it clear he had been declining mentally for months, the nurse nodded understanding. He was immediately escorted to a room with his daughter close behind, her face displaying that she was clearly realizing this event was the catalyst of hard change in their lives.

We could hear her from the parking lot. Moaning, crying…at times just screaming. They waited in line to be checked in. Her husband searched for her ID in her purse, she was unable to help him through her gritted teeth. His worry was written all over his face as his wife writhed in the wheel chair, sometimes in a ball, other times bent over, always moaning. He stroked her hair as he answered questions, severe abdominal pain, left side, like this for an hour. They didn’t move as fast with her, not for lack of trying, their compassion was inspiring. She called out numerous times “help me!”

She came in alone, disheveled. She announced loudly through the plexiglass that she thinks she “has the Corona virus” and needed to be tested. She was politely asked to sit down. She was at least 5^th in a line for chest x-rays. We all readjusted our masks, being reminded of the danger zone we sat in. She just stared at the floor with empty eyes, I stared at her, wondering about her precious life. Maybe she was doing the same.

Another came in looking for his mother. She had been checked in earlier that day, he needed to see her. They were not allowing visitors. But he had her medicine and was bringing food later. He was asked to wait. He was texting the whole time, waiting and worried.

Over and over they came in for help and found a seat. Us all together, facing down different battles, fighting in our own way, waiting for help, answers. Sitting with our own brand of pain and suffering. The nurses checking in, taking labs, processing, and addressing pain. My own personal pain felt overwhelming, the environment felt like it was holding a magnifying glass to my helplessness. I continued to convince myself this was NOT the time or the place to cry. Not yet. Not now. No matter how tired I felt. I kept rubbing my husbands back as he rocked back and forth…convincing himself now was NOT the time and place to throw up. I prayed and prayed. For Chris, for myself, for each person that came in…prayed until all I had left was the name of Jesus.

 Jesus! Help!

She was in the room next to us. Chris was peacefully resting, IV meds and fluids finally underway, I could hear her crying. The nurse outside our room made a call to the dr. She was birthing a baby who had already died within her, her body wasn’t cooperating, what was the next step? I shut my eyes, grief for her washing over me. Her crying could have been from physical pain, but the emotional pain was clear. Jesus! Help! Was she alone? How long had she prayed for this baby? What had happened? They moved her immediately. Chris had heard the conversation, I thought he was asleep, I looked up and caught him staring at me, I held his gaze. Even now, I could weep for her. Pain is heavy. But a pain that births death is crushing.

I wish I had answers. But any answer in the face of such despair feels like a mockery. My pain, any pain, cannot be reduced to a tidy answer. There is no logical explanation to suffering. It is no respecter of person or wealth, doesn’t care how much “good” you do, it couldn’t care less about your political affiliation or your race. Suffering comes to us all.

Pain can’t be “fixed.” I have no power to make it just “go away.” I have tried to ignore it, deny it, numb it and rage at it. In the end, pain demands to be paid attention to…our best efforts to do all the above mentioned things, will fail.

Pain and suffering reaches us in many different forms, varying degrees and from unspeakable sources, but maybe it all has one theme in common? It can carry us to levels of dependence upon something much greater, much higher than us. Maybe it carries with it the potential of an intimacy that we otherwise might not have known? Intimacy with Someone that is not limited by logic or reasoning, Someone outside our explanation…Someone who has the power to take senseless suffering and birth new life. Someone who loved enough to CHOSE senseless suffering so that I would not be alone in mine.

Without God, all pain is pointless and carries with it no purpose. Pain plus no purpose equals loss of all hope. Emptiness. Pain with purpose, the kind that promises a living in the midst of perceived dying, is still pain. But can be endured, might I say…even, rejoiced in?

The thing I LOVE about my Jesus is that he doesn’t give me trivial answers. In deep pain we grapple for an answer, but if we are honest, no answer will be good enough. I will not, I cannot, accept any platitude. Nothing would make me “ok” with the suffering that we have experienced, that has played out in front of me and to someone I love more than my own life. No explanation will suffice. So Jesus doesn’t offer one, He just gives me Himself. Every night this old song comes to mind and I sing it out loud before we go to bed. Sometimes Chris sings it with me…maybe you know it, the lyrics are as follows…

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in His wonderful face. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of His Glory and Grace.”

Such simplicity. Look at Jesus. His eyes hold a knowing. An understanding. An assurance. And in his eyes, as I am face to face with Him, I am reminded of what He has done. He CHOSE unimaginable suffering, indescribable humiliation, excruciating death…so we could be face to face. So I could know those eyes. Better than that, so I could know His heart, His life, His love.  So I could be His daughter forever. He never designed me, or you, to experience such anguish, but instead of presenting a temporal solution, he devised, executed and followed through on an eternal solution. One that cost Him everything. A forever solution.

I will remember her loud cries for help, and her soft cries of deep grief, and the tears of a daughter, and his urgency to be with his mom, and her hollow eyes staring at the ground. And so many more. I will remember strangers suffering together. They are forever imprinted on my soul…

I pray for eyes to see the suffering, they surround us, they are us. I pray for courage to move into it and to live the truth that there is a Good God, a Suffering Savior, who promises to never evacuate our lives. I also pray for the faith to rely on and have deep faith in a God who is higher than me, bigger than my problems and has suffered more than me in this life. I will remember what He has done. I will look for what He is doing and I will Hope for what He will do.

Beholding His Glory in Suffering,

Aubrie

Unintentionally, so much was challenged. My ability, my knowledge, my effort. It is astounding how much can be undermined in one flippant comment. The enemy casts a wide net. True to his character, this “wide net” creates a battle of ambiguity. The multiple feelings and thoughts quickly swirl and combine to the point that you can’t quite cut through the chaos to identify where the actual frontline is. What was actually said? What am I actually struggling with? What is the actual next step?

The conversation ushered in doubt and confusion, shook my identity. It called into question not just who I am, but what I have been gifted to do and my ability to do it. So, at my first chance I ran to my stronghold. I laid it all out. And He said this…

2 Corinthians 3:4-5 “We carry this confidence in our hearts because of our union with Christ before God. Yet we don’t see ourselves as capable enough to do anything in our own strength, for our true competence flows from God’s empowering presence. He alone makes us adequate ministers who are focused on an entirely new covenant.”

His word and His love are piercing. His truth isn’t ambiguous, it is specific. His presence isn’t undefined, it is personal. Frontline revealed. Stand in my grace here.

So I declare…My confidence cannot depend on what I do or how well I do it. It is not found in the approval or validation of man. It is not revealed in my emotional landscape or held captive by my circumstances.

I am unified with Christ and I stand before God, having already been made confident. I am not required to earn it, maintain in, insure it, or manufacture it. It was a gift and I possess it completely.

He doesn’t just equip me with confidence but he also declares me competent. His “empowering presence” provides me with the ability, the adequacy, the discernment and knowledge to honor Him with my whole life. This competency cannot be severed from his presence. I abide with him, so I am competent.

This truth lifts my head. Challenges may remain, but they do not define me. Feelings can persist but they cannot drown me. Doubts are free to plague me but they do not have the power to dictate my worth or value.

I am confident and competent.

There are benefits to a long driveway.

I have often found my feet in the gravel, using the length of that well worn path to give space to my heart that is desperate, broken or sad. My long driveway has the added benefit of privacy. I take to the gravel when I need a place to meet with God. I leave how I am “supposed to feel” and how I am  “expected to act” on the front porch, those thoughts aren’t allowed where I am going.  I only take with me honesty and vulnerability trusting that my God can handle the ugly, the broken and the stubborn parts of me.

I have come to recognize wrestling as a good thing. Instead of a fight against Him, it is a fight for Him. For his presence, His peace, His life. He engages me. Clings to me with fierce love and determination. I wrote the following in my journal after a particularly exhausting wrestling match.

“He is constant strength, faithful love, zero judgement as I flail against Him. He believes the best of me when I am at my worst. He listens to my gut wrenching honesty without condemnation or correction. He allows the storm to rage. The storm carries purpose that He won’t interrupt. He sits still with understanding in His eyes. He walks the road offering no advice or insight, He knows I need neither. When I exhaust myself and the words run dry and the tears continue to fall, He reveals Himself as Almighty God. The peace takes the place of confusion and anxiety. His love replaces the fear and despair. Sometimes the truth is only recognized and valued when all else fails. Truth is the parched man’s water. Surrender comes easy after the fight. I don’t need an answer, a solution. I need Him. His goodness. His promise. His truth. Him. Just Him.”

There comes a moment, when I yield. The surge of emotions continues and yet, I see clearly. I am replete. I ask if He sees me, does He care? In response, He unveils Himself, and in His eyes I am revealed. My true self found. He is the calm, in the midst of the storm. I stop demanding an answer or requesting the pain to be removed and I receive. The full weight of His Glory is experienced and it is felt in every weak place. He covers, strengthens, and fortifies. He expands my sight and I see the vastness of His love.  His grace, absolute. A deep belief emerges, an assurance that He above all, can be trusted.

I get to the end of the driveway, the next step is out of the “ring”, to face it all again…He promises to go with me. Then I see the rock. It has been painted, one word written on it, and then discarded. It lays on the ground, and there in 3rd grade penmanship it reads “grace”. Grace.

I step over it, leaving it untouched, to serve as a beacon for the next time I am wrestling.