We found out yesterday that Robert’s cancer has returned. Last month, his beta HGC levels were at 19. Yesterday, his blood test shows that same tumor marker at over 900.
I can’t begin to describe how much it hurts to hear that kind of news. We’ve prayed and prayed and prayed. He’s just now getting back into the swing of things. And now this. It was far from good news.
Yes. We still have hope. No one has ever considered this terminal. Still, how long must we pray? To what lengths must we go? How much must Robert suffer before he’s finally free?
C.S. Lewis wrote in A Grief Observed that God always seems to be silent at the times when you feel you most need Him. “But go to Him when your need is desperate, whem all other hope is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting inside. After that, silence.”
Certainly, I can appreciate the sentiment. When Mom passed away last summer, it certainly felt like God was frighteningly quiet. The question has run through my mind, “why?” Why be silent when we need You the most? It just seems so horribly unfair. Why turn a cold shoulder when I most need one to cry on?
The thought occurred to me that in You silence, You never lack compassion. Hosea 3 seems to sum that up well. You promised silence to the Israelites, not out of wrath, but rather compassion. If You spoke to soon, they would misunderstand, because they would evaluate your words from their pain-filled perspective.
It’s not that You don’t speak because You don’t care. It’s that You don’t speak because You are giving us time to heal.
When I returned to KC after Mom died, so many friends tried to comfort me with what seemed to be pithy comments. Now, I have no doubt that those statements were heartfelt, but at the time I simply could not be consoled with mere verbiage. Every apology seemed trite, because no on in KC knew Mom. Could they possibly understand how I feel? Each comment brought anguish, pain, and remorse to the surface, but comfort was scarce to be found.
The most comfort I felt for months was when David spotted me weeping during FCF one night and did the only thing that seemed sensible to him. He sat beside me, wrapped his arm around my should and would not let me go. I wept and wept, but he just stood there with me.
You see, I didn’t need words, even if they were genuine. No, I needed the presence of a friend. Words, my soul could not bear, but the warmth of another was more refreshing than any cup of cold water has ever been.
Is God silent when we are desperate? Often so. Yet, He is not, nor has He ever been a God far off. He has promised to be near the brokenhearted. Indeed, if He spoke to me about Robert’s condition right now, I’d probably assume that it was a lie or vain imagination. However, just because I can’t hear Him, that doesn’t mean He isn’t here holding me, or there, holding my brother.
Faith is an interesting beast. When you feel as if you haven’t got any, you may well find you’re actually exercising the most. When you suppose that everything is going according to plan and your faith can never be shaken, you haven’t got a clue.
Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. While I do not see my brother completely healed, my God and Father has promised me it will come. In the mean time, I may weep and mourn over my brother’s suffering. Yet, He’s promised never to forsake us, whether we can feel His presence or not.
Come quickly, oh dawn! For sorrow has forsaken me and I cannot see, but with the morning comes joy…
