thoughts on this past month.

Lately, I’ve been walking alongside some of my dearest friends through the darkness of the valley. Unexpected illness. Unimaginable sorrow and grief. Confusion. Pain.

It has been a hard month for so many reasons.

Leaving our daughter behind as we flew home from Africa. Struggling with unresolved fear and anger over this process. Working to get back to “normal” after returning home. Wrestling with how to explain our trip to friends and family. Aching. Feeling isolated and misunderstood. Thankful that God is My Hope and Comforter.

Landing in Belgium and learning that a very close friend had been hospitalized back home with Guillain-Barre syndrome. Since that time, his condition has worsened and he was flown to Kansas City to receive treatment at KU medical. GBS left him completely {temporarily} paralyzed. His wife and two young children uprooted their lives to Kansas City in order to care for him and be by his side. He was recently transferred to a facility in Nebraska and has started to show signs of improvement. I am so, so thankful for this. I have been on my knees for this family so often over the past month. Confusion and fear and uncertainty have overcast all of us that are close to them. Scott was perfectly healthy one day and the next, he was hospitalized with this rare disorder. Hope is rising. Thankful that God is the Ultimate Healer. 

Pleading on behalf of a dear friend who, after waiting 3 long years for a referral, found out that the son they have claimed and loved deeply was severely ill in Ethiopia. We stormed the gates of Heaven on behalf of precious Cruz. Praying for healing for this little boy who touched the hearts of so many. And then, last Thursday, we learned that Cruz had gone home to Jesus. Tears flowed. Confusion and sorrow clouded my heart. I ached for my sweet friend, Cat. I just read a beautiful tribute to Cruz from another dear friend and am reminded why we continue to fight for the least of these. Because every child deserves a family that will love them unconditionally and claim them as their own. Thankful that God is the Father to the Fatherless and the Provider of Unexplainable Peace.  

I read THIS POST by Jen Hatmaker yesterday and it resonated so deeply with where I am right now as I struggle to walk alongside my sweet friends through this season of suffering…

“Suffering invites us to be radically human with one another, perhaps doing nothing more than reaching across the table, clasping hands, and weeping together. We are afforded the chance to create a safe place for someone else to mourn; nothing is needed but space, proximity, presence, empathy. You cannot possibly give an answer, so don’t try. Grief cannot be sidestepped; it must be endured, so may we be a people who endure with one another rather than constantly mitigating, explaining, propping up. Let’s just hold one another through the dark night and wait for the sun to rise.”

Amen. 

James MacDonald explains our tendency toward ungratefulness when circumstances feel out of our control {from his study, Always True}:

“Don’t disregard every good thing he has done for you, turn rebellious and ungrateful, and whine, “But I have to have this, God. If You don’t fix this situation, You’re not God. You don’t care about me.” Don’t put it all on the line over one thing and demand that God work right now. When we try this, we are not depending on God so much as we are trying to demonstrate just how much influence we have with Him.”

Today, I’m choosing to stand firm on His promises and reflect on His goodness. I will focus my attention and strength on every good thing He has done for me and for those I love, as we stand together in the valley waiting expectantly for the sun to rise.