How God is Meeting Me Where I'm At

If you don't know, my Dad has been checked into Hopkins Hospital since last Wednesday. It's been a rough week as they try to solve the buildup of fluid around his lungs making it difficult to breathe, to the point where he's on oxygen. And I have been having a rough week, emotionally, as a result. But this post is about a couple of the ways, in the past week, that God has met me in the midst of all this.

I wrote a sad/angry/emotional blog post early yesterday evening (which I have since decided not to share), about how alone I felt, how angry I was, how I didn't want anyone else to even try to understand or comfort me. And then Ryan and I went to our neighborhood prayer group meeting. I have to admit, I was not in the head space I expected to be in for prayer group that night. I did not want to be there, I did not want other people to know Dad's latest news. But I went because I needed to do something besides sit at home and cry. Both of the other couples in the group have young children, and the smiles of children brought some light to my heart. I shared a few details while I was there (without crying) and God knew where I was at and gave my friend the words to say in her prayers that touched on exactly the struggles I'd been facing, and reminded me I'm not alone in the grief and pain.

That night, after prayer group, I fell back into my pool of grief and pain. (Side note - my husband has been absolutely amazing throughout all of this and I am 100% glad I'm married while this is happening so I can hang onto his anchoring presence). In the midst of my emotions, I texted another good friend of mine that I was drowning in the pool, and she immediately texted me back a prayer to me right there, saying "Help (Emily) know your compassion and empathy...We trust you to enter her pain". And I fell asleep, exhausted, with a migraine from my tears. Her text helped because I wasn't being told that my feelings didn't count, or that I was being selfish (which is what I had been telling myself) - I was being told that it is something completely understandable, and being told to open my hurting heart to let God in, not to erase grief, but to sustain me through it.

Thank you, those of you who are praying for us. I'm going to say it here in my blog post now because I might not be able to say it later. I'm not always able to appreciate what it means for other people to be praying for us, because I'm so wrapped up in what I'm feeling, I don't want to let anyone else in.

I have been listening to the Daily Audio Bible this year, and on two of my roughest days, the scriptures from Daily Audio Bible were exactly on point. The first scripture was from Feb. 21st, on the day that Dad went into Hopkins. It was Psalm 38, which is described as a petition of David. Parts that specifically stood out that day were verses 7-9  "My back is filled with searing pain; there is no health in my body. I am feeble and utterly crushed; I groan in anguish of heart. All my longings lie open before you, Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you" and the end, verses 21-22 "Lord, do not forsake me; do not be far from me, my God. Come quickly to help me, my Lord and my Savior."

The bit about the back filled with searing pain reminded me of one part of Dad's situation, since he has been dealing with back pain for quite some time, and the sighing not hidden from you hit me for my whole family, processing and coping with where things are at right now. The cry in verse 21, "Lord, do not forsake me" I can feel strongly, because I often feel like God's not hearing my cries. And I'm trying to get to the point where I can pray "come help me", to let God in on my feelings.

Many people have told me they pray for miracles, for Dad to keep fighting on. And I think many of those prayers have been answered, since an initial prognosis of months has stretched into years now. I appreciate those prayers and I think we need those prayers but I can't pray those prayers (see this post from  when we first knew it was terminal: http://inmyfathershands.blogspot.com/2015/08/how-i-dont-know-what-to-pray-for.html)

I feel much the same as I felt when I wrote that - I haven't magically become better able to process cancer just because we've been dealing with it for a while. There were some great days in those past 2.5 years since I wrote that to when I'm writing this, yes, but I am having trouble seeing the hope right now. I feel like the Resistance at the end of The Last Jedi - things look bleak. Things feel hopeless. And then I listened to today's Daily Audio Bible. Today, they read Mark 9:1-29, which contains the story about the healing of a possessed boy. And for this passage, I zoned in on these words in verses 23 and 24: "If you can?" said Jesus. “Everything is possible for one who believes.” Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”" I still can't pray for a miracle. I'm afraid to let myself hope for one because when we don't get them, and the next disappointing news hits, I'll fall back into that pool of grief and pain, from a higher height, with deeper to sink. But I can pray that Dad might be able to get out of Hopkins this week. I can believe enough to pray that he'll be released tomorrow, be thankful for the people who can still pray for miracles greater than that, and pray that God meets me where I'm at to "help my unbelief".

I am figuring out what little, baby steps I can take. I can only pray for one more day right now. God, give me one more great talk with my Dad, one more chance to ask his advice. Even that, sometimes I feel is asking too much. Because I am one child of nine, and all of us need one more moment, one more basketball game, one more Christmas, one more  graduation, one more wedding - and it spirals into a what seems like a huge, impossible request, and I start crying for what we just won't get to have, for how limiting this is becoming, for things I feel like we've lost. And Dad's still here. I can't even begin to imagine how I'll feel when God finally says no to my requests for "just one more".

I'm still hurting. I'm just hurting within the presence of God now, instead of feeling alone.