The Pause

There's a bend in a road I travel occasionally that takes me back to when Tim and I were first dating. Whenever I drive it, no matter the weather, I roll the windows down and remember what the breeze felt like all those years ago.  Riding on his motorcycle, my arms around his waist, nestled up to his strong back, there was a warm safety that continues to do this day.

Back then, young and full of dreams, I would envision our life together.  Thinking of our future always filled with me happiness and I couldn't wait to be his wife.  Being with him then, wind in my hair, our love felt carefree and that's how I imagined our marriage would be.

Twenty-some-odd years later, there has been much joy and days upon days of happiness, but there has also been loss and heartache, sickness and pain.  I don't know a marriage that doesn't have a mixture of it all.

Last Saturday night, I was stewing a bit and not feeling the hearts and butterflies of that young love.  Tim had been an absolute grump and was not my favorite person.  And even though I more than a little frustrated with him, I sat thinking about how often little hiccups like ours send some couples right apart.  Maybe it is because we've endured most of life's big ones, but I just don't understand how easy it is for marriages to simply end.  So often I see emotions dictate permanent decisions.  It saddens me to see others fall "out of love" faster than they fell in, as I don't know how that's possible.

Maybe I'm extra sappy from the week's experiences, but Tim is my person.  My best friend.  My soul mate.  And I can't imagine life without him.  

Almost exactly a week ago, I wrote about prayer.  Little did I know that God was preparing my heart for a storm.  While my mind was heavy with the needs of others, I neglected to see those of my husband.  

After over twenty years together, I should've seen his grumpiness last weekend for what it was.  My husband was not well.

I went to bed in tears Saturday for his attitude and awoke in tears for his safety.  Waking for church, I finally noticed signs that something wasn't right.  Struggling for nearly every breath, we locked eyes and he admitted what I saw.  Hearing him ask to go to doctor, while clutching his chest, is a snapshot in time I'd soon forget.  Though I remained calm, there were pieces of me breaking inside, as they

they took him back for tests in the ER.  

Sitting with my back to the same shared wall that I said goodbye to my son in eight years ago, I questioned my peace.  Was I dreaming?  Was I really back here?  For awhile, it was as if I had a foot in both places, remembering my screams that November night and quietly petitioning for Tim's healing in the room I now waited.

To date, we still don't have answers and he is still struggling.  We spent a long night in the hospital with every test coming back normal.  While I am grateful, it is hard to watch the love of your life hurting, uncertain, and not being able to do anything but pray.

As such, I've spent a lot of time at His feet this week.  

At one point in the hospital, my body so physically tired from watching over Tim and mind racing with prayers, I just mentally imagined myself there.  I didn't know what else to say, what other prayer to offer, so I simply said, "I'm here, Jesus....I'm here."

Often in this life, we don't get the answers we're looking for and sometimes we have to wait.  Neither are easy but I trust in His timing.  And I'm listening to what He's trying to teach me in the pause.  

Faithful Friday: Unanswered Prayers

For six years I've struggled with one very personal factor of losing my son.

God said no to my deepest, most heartfelt prayer.

While I would never wish this pain on even the most evil in this world, in the early days of grief, when I heard of other's answered prayers - of healing, of miracles, a part of me would twinge. Sometimes, if I'm honest, a part of me still does.

Why not my son?  Why not my prayer?

It's the question that's crept doubt into my faith.  Why I felt anger brimming on the surface, even from the ER that first horrible night.  What turned me away from church for awhile.  And why I tried to push God out of my life.

I couldn't understand how He could let my husband and me survive a motorcycle wreck, but take my son while simply riding his bike around our neighborhood.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Our wreck had changed me.  It was a stop sign for our life.  During the days that followed, I appreciated moments more.  Sunrises and sunsets had meaning.  I treasured every moment with my family because I knew how precious time was.

And I shared it with others, frequently giving praises to God for saving us.  Helping others see the special in every day, was what I thought my purpose was.

So when God pulled the rug from under my fairy tale dreams, nothing made sense anymore.

What more could he want from me?  How much more did I need to suffer on this earth?  And how could I ever share the good news when so much good just left this earth?

I know now our wreck wasn't just a stop sign - it was a gift.  Those three years after were the closest our family ever was.  We made the most of every single day, packed more "I Love Yous" than ever before, and created sweet memories, not realizing a countdown was ticking away in Heaven.

Somehow we came through the darkness that comes with child loss.  Eventually, slowly, joy returned.  And my relationship with God strengthened beyond measure.

Yet, in the background hissing now and then was the reminder that God didn't hear my prayer.

At least not the one that mattered most.

To this day it is something I've fought with, what I've internally pushed aside during moments that required my faith to stretch and reach.  Though I tried to ignore it, that question was always lingering.

And then, in His perfect timing, He sent me a message that changed it all.

Last Sunday, our pastor spoke the words God knew I needed to hear.....

Even Jesus had unanswered prayers.

Wow.  That single sentence weighed heavy, bounced around the corners of my mind, and settled into my heart.

In the Garden, on the evening before Jesus would die for my sins, he prayed his deepest, most earnest prayer to His Father.  But even in his distress and agony, God couldn't answer His prayer.  His own son's.

Even knowing the pain it would cause, there was a purpose and a plan.

 Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, 

and he said to them,
“Sit here while I go over there and pray.”
He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, 

and he began to be sorrowful and troubled. 

Then he said to them,
“My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. 

Stay here and keep watch with me.”
Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed,
“My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. 

Yet not as I will, but as you will.”