Thy Will Be Done

There is this continuous and ongoing conversation in my head.  In the Christian circles in which I "run," people are always saying that "we will feel God's comfort, that God is here amidst the pain," and I kind of wonder what that means.  Really? The pain seems pretty intense.  Why didn't God just keep the cancer away in the first place?  I prayed that "God would protect my children in ways that I could not"...and this was the response.

In some ways I suppose my seeking God's comfort is similar to the story of the guy waiting on the rooftop for God to save him from the flood.  I am expecting some kind of supernatural euphoric feeling to come down from heaven and take away my hurt.  The guy on the roof turns down the ride from the helicopter, he turns down the ride from the boat, and tells them he is waiting for God to save him.  I suppose we "feel His comfort" first and foremost through the people who comfort us.  Perhaps while God has stepped back from the physical world in many ways, and allows it to run its chaotic course, he still works through his people.  Through kind nurses, and friends, and blogging friends who leave kind comments, and go out of their way to send hats and carepackages even when they hardly know me.  There God is.

I pray and I pray desperately.  One of my most precious beings is on the line.    I question God.  I feel forsaken and abandoned.  Sometimes I am tempted to feel that He is laughing at me.  He saw the pride I had in my precious child, he saw my happiness and my joy, and he decided to smash it.  A "jealous God" indeed. 

I keep hearing this voice: "God has betrayed you. You are cursed.  You have been forsaken.  God chose Andrew out of 250,000,000 to have this kind of cancer in this part of his body--you have been targeted. Curse God.  Forget him.  He is a lie." As I look around the radiation treatment center I understand the title of that movie, "Children of a Lesser God." What kind of loving, powerful God allows horror to befall his tiniest children?  I wish I understood.


Sometimes it feel as if Superman were standing next to me as my child is being crushed by a car.  Instead of helping, he stands there watching and saying, "Do you love me best? I am planning to turn your tragedy into my glory. I'm gonna wait another hour to make sure you realize how much you need me, and then you need to call a bunch of people around you to pray for your son, and beg me to help. As soon as you get lots of people praying and begging, then I may consider helping you. May. Can you sing me a few praise songs while you sit there? I like singing."

That is what this feels like at times.


That is where I am tempted to go.  And obviously, sometimes I do. But I am fighting.  I am deciding to believe that those thoughts are put there to destroy my connection with God.  So I rebut them.  Like in Sunday school...Get behind me Satan. Maybe that sounds corny, but I really feel like there is a battle for my soul going on.
 
I have to put those lies away. I have to keep believing that regardless of whether or not God allows Andrew to heal, God is pained by Andrew's pain. He is pained by my pain. He is not purposely torturing him for some mysterious unknown reason. Andrew has cancer because this is not heaven yet. Horrific things happen. God does not enjoy watching it, but for some reason does not prevent it.


My pain is making me aware of the deep selfishness,  envy, and coldness, deep in my soul.  Do I care that much about other people? or do I just care about me?  Do I help others when they are in pain? When they are in trouble?  Not near enough. 

I find myself angry that this has become my life and other people are on the beach celebrating their summer freedom.  I am angry that other little children walk around with pink little cheeks touching dirty floors and my son is pale and sickly because his blood cells are being demolished, and everywhere he goes he is smeared with hand sanitizer.  But envy gets me nowhere.  Envy gets me miserable.  Everyone has pain.  Everyone has tragedy.  Get behind me Satan.

So I find myself not knowing how to pray. My pleas for his healing are so desperate. Sometimes I just pray The Lord's Prayer because I don't know what else to say. "Thy will be done." That is the hard part. The scariest part.


I pray that God will use me to make the best of this situation.  That God will help me to make lemonade out of these DAMN lemons.  What separates the amazing from the bitter and lonely?  Their attitude and actions in adversity.  What do the amazing do with their pain?  They make the world a better place.  They show the love to others.  They smile through the rain.

It is not easy. I try to claw my way to the "bright side" and as soon as I do, it feels like someone or something is at the top of the hill, ready to kick me off with a big military boot. I fall back and land hard. Sometimes I feel like Satan listens to my every word, and turns all of my fears into reality.


So I'm trying to enjoy each day.  Praying for tomorrow. Having fun as often as possible and begging praying pleading that God will heal Andrew and keep him from any future consequences of all of these toxic treatments.  I pray that he will use me as he needs me, and guard my heart from the selfish, evil, angry, resentful, bitter (I could go on and on) feelings that I feel.  I pray that regardless of the outcome, I will continue to strive to be loving, goodhearted and kind.

Dear God, Use me as you will.  Lead me. Guide me. Walk with me and comfort my baby.  Protect him from the side-effects of radiation.  Protect his heart and kidneys from the poisons in his body.  Protect his blood from future leukemias.  Protect his body from future cancer. Thank you that he is still eating. Thank you for keeping much of his joy intact.  Thank you for the support of family and friends. Thank you for all that you have provided to make this journey as easy as possible. Thy will be done.

Amen.