I needed the reminders that I heard in church yesterday . . . from the words in the songs we sang to the declaration of the Word.
“I won’t bow down to idols,
I’ll stand strong and worship You.
And if it puts me in the fire,
I’ll rejoice ’cause You’re there too.
I won’t be formed by feelings,
I hold fast to what is true.
If the cross brings transformation,
Then I’ll be crucified with You.
‘Cause death is just the doorway,
Into resurrection life.
And if I join You in Your suffering,
Then I’ll join You when You rise.
And when You return in glory,
With all the angels and the saints,
My heart will still be singing,
My song will the the same.
Oh! Christ be magnified,
Let His praise arise.
Christ be magnified in me.
Oh! Christ be magnified,
From the altar of my life,
Christ be magnified in me”
Song by Cody Carnes
To say the last couple of months have been an emotional roller coaster is an understatement. There have been moments in the past couple of months when I have wondered if I would have the mental fortitude or emotional wherewithal to pen anything coherent.
Just three days before my Dad passed away, workers began renovations on our home to make the space more livable for our son, Johnnie. He’s been completely unable to wash his hands in our home or easily maneuver his wheels down the hall and about. Though the work had been scheduled for well over six months, the timing could not have been more well-planned. After news came about my Dad, packing quickly and rushing out, there was still much left undone within our home, and when we returned home after spending nearly two weeks nearly with my family, our house was still undone and covered in construction dust . . . not a space compatible for six individuals to live, especially one who crawls on the floor every single day. Massive amounts of stress ensued, and were it not for a family we’ve yet to meet and my husband’s very gracious parents, I don’t think we would have survived the next six weeks.
Time to grieve? Not a chance. And that’s not good for this gal who prefers to stuff her emotions, even on a good day, yet alone, in a season of high stress. I suspect that I will soon experience a tiny crack in my well-maintained facade and the end result will not look very pretty at all.
Meanwhile, in all the chaos of the last couple of months, another significant anniversary in our lives came and went. I would be lying if I told you that I haven’t given it much thought at all. Truth is, I’ve thought about it many times over and tried to wrap my head and heart around it all once again.
Ten years ago, the end of April 2011, was the day we packed our earthly possessions into a few bags, quickly told locals and friends goodbye, and locked the door on a very important part of our lives. We walked into that ultrasound all those years ago while living overseas, learned that our son would be born with Spina Bifida, somehow knew that life was dramatically changing, and here we are today . . . ten years have passed us by.
Ten years.
Words are completely inadequate to describe the myriad of emotions that overwhelm as I reflect on this passage of time. There’s no way we could’ve known all that the next ten years would hold. We had an inkling of the care necessary for Johnnie to have life. We could foresee a change in ministry and family dynamics and future dreams.
But there’s no way we could predict all the little deaths along the way.
If I had known, been allowed to catch a glimpse of the future, I’m pretty sure I would’ve dug a hole, crawled in, and never come out. It sure is a good thing that we can’t see what lies ahead, just around the corner.
In the whirlwind after Johnnie’s diagnosis in utero, certain words stuck to the walls of my mind.
“Significant.”
“Worst case I’ve seen.”
“Divorce.”
“Difficult with other children.”
“Surgeries.”
“Paralysis.”
“Permanent care.”
Being ten years removed from that day, with the vantage point of time, I can, however, also see God’s faithfulness. Time and time again.
Were the sacrifices far greater than we imagined? Yes.
Has it been easy? No.
Do we still struggle to understand all that we’ve walked through? Yes.
But sitting in our bedroom just the other day, tears streaming down my face, thoughts swirling with all the ups and downs of the past ten years, through the loneliness, this was my declaration to my husband . . .
No earthly thing, no human person, could ever satisfy the way Jesus does. He is enough.
Does that mean that I get this right every single day? No way.
Do I still go through major seasons of sadness and grief? Absolutely.
Are there times when He is silent or I am distant? Yes.
But I still declare that He is truly the only thing that satisfies the longing of my heart. No earthly possession. No vacation. Not one moment of longed-for silence. Not a break from the routine. Not a kindred soul.
Just Jesus. Only Jesus.
Ask me what I’ve learned over the last ten years. Not a whole lot, other than Him.
Sure, I’ve mellowed. Things that once mattered, hold no sway over me anymore. I have a hard time asking for help. I don’t get embarrassed quite as easily anymore. I am fully aware that I am in control of nothing. And I’m also not the woman that I want to be. I don’t have the ability to serve in ministry or sing in the choir or drop everything to help a friend or the stamina to stay up late with my teenagers or the freedom to take that unexpected trip or even participate regularly in small group.
I’ve also learned that things go south very quickly when Jesus isn’t front and center. Bitterness is always lurking beneath the surface. Self-pity strikes quickly. It’s ugly.
He must be centerstage. Just Jesus. Only Jesus.
I always hesitate to write. To share. I’m fully aware that there are people walking roads far more difficult than ours. But the truth is, it has been hard. I’ve been encouraged by the stories of others, so if sharing about our hard helps one other person lock eyes on Jesus in the middle of something difficult, then it’s worth sharing.
As I’ve thought about the last two months, through all the crazy renovations and trying to find housing and feeling lost while out of our place, confronted, once again, by how much we need routine and our familiar spaces to just survive, I realized that we made it to the other side of the crazy by simply putting one foot in front of the other.
One day at a time. One step at time. Doing the next thing that needed to get done.
Truth be told, that’s pretty much how we’ve made it through the last ten years as well. We held on to Jesus and took another step.
One day at a time. One step at a time. Doing the next thing that He put in front of us.
It’s not glamorous. There’s nothing novel about it. In fact, it’s pretty ancient. Jesus bids us come and follow Him, but it does involve a denying of oneself and daily taking up the cross. I think to myself, “Surely ten years has been long enough to grieve and move on?!” Nope. I’m pretty certain that I will still be wrestling with this ten more years down the road. And I’m thankful. Because it brings me to Jesus. Every. Single. Day.
I’m so incredibly thankful for the people who have loved us and walked with us and held us up over the last ten years. But I’m most thankful for a Savior whose been ever-present.
Oh friends, whether your life is a wreck or miraculously in order, grab that Bible, turn on some worship music, weep, shout, sing, declare His truths. He’s there. He’s listening. He’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever known.
A Thousand Little Deaths 