And the Father was silent…

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…

Suddenly, I ache

A friend of mine once told me, “The greatest gift you can give a lover is more love.”

I have always been able to intellectually assent to that statement.  It does make sense.  But only recently have I been able to echo that with any degree of certainty.

In the short time I’ve had here with my family in Texas, I have felt a marked difference in my spirit.  It seems impossible to describe, but it is as if I don’t feel complete.  I feel off-kilter and dry.  It has nothing to do with my physical body.  No, it has everything to do with my spirit.

I woke up Sunday morning as my brother’s house in Austin.  I showered.  I shaved.  I helped my younger brother bake breakfast pastries.  Yet, nothing felt quite right.  I was thinking about all the things we had scheduled that day and nothing seemed appealing.  Pondering that oddity for a moment, I realized that it has been too long since my heart was last connected with my Savior and Friend.

That single fact had caused such a want in me that nothing else seemed desirable.  For the first time in my life, I could say with certainty that I was pained for lack His presence in my life.  As odd as it seems, that pain was actually a gift.

A year ago, I had came home after my first semester at IHOPU with all the zeal of a pre-pubescent boy with a fist full of firecrackers.  The possibilities seemed endless and I was ready to blast anyone who I felt didn’t live up to my standards of godliness.  Thank God nobody gave me a match.

A month later, I suffered one of the most crushing blows I’ve ever weathered.  My mother, with whom I often found myself at odds, had suddenly passed away.  There were so many arguments and callous words that I would never be able to make right.  Under all that grief and self-loathing, my heart shut down and so began the driest season of my life.  I have never found myself so close to utter stoicism in my life.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up and found myself desperate for Him again.  Could this pain actually be a gift?  Take my word for it, when you’ve felt nothing move your heart in months, pain is not only a gift.  It is a welcome relief, because it is evidence that you’re not one of the walking dead after all.  Yet, in this case, it was also evidence of something else.  It showed me that I really do love Jesus Christ and long for His return.  Without Him, nothing else is desirable or enjoyable.

The ache was sign of something else going on deep within my heart.  The ache was a sign of a deep, deep love.  But here’s the warning: the greater the love, the greater the ache.

The greatest gift you can give a lover is more love.  I may add one caveat.  Any lover will ache for the presence of their beloved, but that ache is a welcomed pain.  For the more lovesick you are, the more you love that person.

Sustain me with cakes of raisins,

Refresh me with apples,

For I am lovesick.

–SoS 2:5