Archives For hard times

The last few months have left me feeling so very shaken and squeezed. Despite our best efforts, medical intervention, and significant investment, things haven’t changed: my dear wife is falling apart before my eyes.

Yet God remains silent.

Despite a renewed commitment earlier this year, I feel myself drifting. There is a distance growing between me and my Father.

I’m not sure I care.

I felt this same enmity when, all those years ago, I prayed for my grandmother to live, and she didn’t. Instead, my grandfather, whom she cared for, was moved from sibling to sibling. And finally into a home. (While an uncle sold off all his earthly goods to pay off debt).
Whatever comfort may come from God seems cold, distant, indifferent.

And I’ve found I’m not strong. I’m weak and worn. I want my wife back, I want our life back. Every day a piece of my heart is torn out when I have to leave her in tears to go to work.

I don’t smoke, yet I dream of getting a pipe. The bottle sings its own siren song to me: I am comfort, I am peace, lose yourself in me.

I am tempted. When it seems that no comfort is forthcoming from the Father, it’s altogether too tempting to find it elsewhere. The bottle, smoking, that channel on TV.

Yet all are smoke and mirrors, promising things they cannot deliver. I feel like Frodo, who near the end of his quest, said he was “naked in the dark” with “nothing between me and the wheel of fire.”

And if I feel this way, how must my dear wife feel? Just this morning she said, “I want a vacation from my body.”

I don’t know how to traverse that. How do I deal with it? I try to be strong for her, remind her that God’s strength is perfected in weakness. But it’s entirely too easy to believe for someone else, and have no faith left for ourselves.

I am naked in the dark.

God help me.

I’m tired. I’m on vacation with my family, and it’s supposed to be restful, relaxing.

But I’m whipped.

My wife is sick. Has been for months.

She can’t control it. It’s not her fault. I don’t blame her.

But watching her suffer, and being powerless to do anything about it, is taking its toll.

I feel like collateral damage. I’m tired all the time. The other night, while shopping, I put a bottle of Jack in the cart.

I don’t drink whisky.

I want to sit a lot. I’m eating more. I’m not writing, and not sure I want to. My creative energy is tapped out.

Lisa wants relief, wants out of her skin. I want it for her. I want this to be over. I want God to step in, and take care of this. Heal her, and zap me with his Scepter of High Energy.©

But he doesn’t seem to be on my schedule–his ways being higher, and all. But he knows the plans he has, right?
I want to believe. I want to believe he’s going to work it all out. I just can’t see it from my vantage point. I guess my faith is a small thing after all. “Lord, I believe; help Thou my unbelief.”

It comes back to that, doesn’t it? Belief. (“Without faith it’s impossible to please God”). My senses are assaulted by one message, telling me to give up, give in. But my bones long to sing another song.

Yet my body is tired, but I’m afraid to sleep… So I stay up late, watch TV, and wake exhausted in the morning.

I wish I knew where to end this post, wrap it up with a nice, neat bow. But life isn’t neat, is it?

“In this world you shall have tribulation,” Jesus said. And maybe, just maybe, it’s my expectations that are out of whack? I want peace, safety, rest healing–and I want it now.

And like a child in the throes of a tantrum, I shake my fist at the sky… because it’s all I can do. I’m powerless to bring Lisa any relief. So I turn to the One Who has the power, and receive…

Silence in reply. If anything, I hear the sound of the doors of Heaven shutting, and being bolted. It’s my sheer impotence in the face of life’s current circumstances that colors my perception. But what is a husband to do when his wife wonders “Does God still love me?”

I try to reassure her, tell that God loves her, has a plan in this. That He weeps with her.

But do I believe it?

My strength is sapped, but I have nowhere else to go–none other has the words of life.

So I keep knocking on those locked doors, hoping Father will open them. I have nowhere else to go.

When the Words Fail

randomlychad  —  March 21, 2013 — 7 Comments

Friends, I’m in season now where I took a break from writing projects to do some much needed soul work. Hard on the heels of that time came a season of illness for my wife. The throes of which we are still in.

As draining as it is for me, physically and emotionally (leaving little energy to write, making me feel a failure in that arena), I can only imagine how it is for her…

When the relief she so desperately seeks is not forthcoming:

Oftentimes, you see

She has said to me

She wants to be other than she

But yet remains within:

A prisoner of her own skin

—————–

If you think of her, please pray for Lisa.

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Thanks, and God bless you.