During the long days, weeks and months of the covid-19 pandemic, Greg and I developed a rhythm of spending time together each afternoon while our son had “rest time” in his room. Some days we would play a board game together, read books or take naps. Those times were nice, but my favorite afternoons were spent on our porch.
I’d brew my coffee, he’d grab a cold energy drink from the fridge, and we’d sit looking out at the green of the forest and take turns asking each other questions from a get-to-know you book called 3,000 Questions About Me. We gone through a similar book when we were dating and this one was a Valentine's Day gift from me to him. I knew he'd love the intentional conversations and even after 13+ years of marriage, we still had lots to learn about each other. On those quiet afternoons on the porch, we'd take turns asking each other questions and recording the answers. Some questions were simple (ex: favorite dinner), others light (ex: favorite knock-knock joke), and still others were deep and penetrating (ex: something you haven't forgiven someone for).
On one of those afternoons,Greg asked me a question that caught me off guard: If you could ask God one question, and be assured he would answer, what would it be?
I sat in silence contemplating. I'd had lots of questions for God over the years that were left unanswered (at least in the way I wanted - a clear, loud, unmistakable voice) such as why didn’t… why won’t… why did….?
But on that day, in the middle of a pandemic with Greg by my side, a question came to mind that brought tears to my eyes: Will you really see me through?
Life had already been plenty hard and I had a lot of fear of the future, especially when it came to Greg's health. His heart failure had been worsening for years, his lungs and kidneys were suffering, his mental health was steady at the moment but always a concern, and the pandemic was making it hard to get him adequate care. I feared he would get worse, feared the doctors wouldn't help, feared that I would lose him long before I was ready. The life expectancy after a heart transplant isn't great and though Greg was young when he received his, the number of complications stacking up were sobering. I told him all the time - jokingly, but barely - that he needed to live at least until our son became an adult. I needed him to not leave me alone to raise a teenager! I couldn't imagine him actually dying but in my moments of deepest reflection, I feared he would.
Greg looked at me questioningly, waiting for me to share more about my question for God. I assured him that I knew God's promises, and that I did believe them to be true... mostly. I knew he'd promised to never leave me or forsake me (Hebrews 13:5), I knew he'd said he'd be with me to the end of the age (Matthew 28:20) and with me in the valley of the shadow of death (Psalm 23:4). But I also knew that none of those promises meant he wouldn't let me suffer. I knew from experience that I might not feel his presence. I feared that maybe the next round of suffering would crush me - my faith, my mental health, my will to live.
I imagined that if Jesus would just show up, encircle me with his arms and say in an audible voice that he wouldn’t let the future destroy me and that he was strong enough for what was coming, then I could trust him with the unknown. He'd given me promises in his word but I wanted more. I wanted some sort of proof, some extra reassurance so that I didn't have to live by faith and trust. I wanted to unshakably know.
I explained it to Greg like this: If we were to get on a plane and fly across the ocean and hit really horrible turbulence I'd be super scared. But if I knew ahead of time that the turbulence would come and there was absolutely zero chance of the plane crashing (by going into the future and seeing that all ends up fine and we'd make it safe and sound to the other side) then when the turbulence came, I wouldn't like it, but I wouldn't be terrified. I'd know it was temporary. I'd know the plane wasn't going to crash. I'd know I just had to wait it out and smooth air would return and I'd be safely on the ground. I wouldn't have to wonder if the pilot could handle it, if a wing was going to rip off the plane, or if something had gone seriously wrong. It would just be bumpy air on our way to a safe landing on the other side.
I knew (even that day on the porch) that this is what God has promised except that the bumpy air in this life is sometimes heart transplants, cancer, car accidents, or chronic illness, and the other side is eternal life with him. But that wasn't what I meant. I wanted him to tell me I was going to be okay in this life, no matter what came my way. That he would give me the strength to survive it, even if I hated it along the way.
Well, Jesus didn't show up physically with arms extended and voice loud, allowing me to peek into my future and get the reassurance I craved.
But he did show up.
He did exactly what his word promised. He was with me in the valley of the shadow of death. He never left me or forsook me. He gave me strength and grace for each moment - even the moments when I could barely muster the will to live. Somehow, he saw me through it all.
And today, 4 years after Greg's body was lowered into a grave, I can look back and see what I couldn't see then. His promises are true, even though we have to live by faith and not by sight.
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