She had messaged me before to tell me how she was contending for her son’s healing. I knew that she had read the story of Adrian’s healing with mixed feelings. On one hand, it gave her hope. On the other, she desperately longed to see a miracle in their own family.
Some time ago, I wrote a blogpost called A Wonder Woman Fully Dressed, about another friend of mine, a Momma Warrior fighting for her son for years before he went home to be with Jesus. You can read the post here:
The woman who messaged me this morning had read it, too. She was heartbroken to know that this wonderful young man had passed away, even though his parents had been praying incessantly for years.
Why would God heal Adrian while the other boy went home to heaven? Did not both families pray? Didn’t God hear all the prayers? Why was only our son healed? Is God not just? Then, how could he treat two Mommas so differently?
“I have been left feeling vulnerable. Two moms, two difficult situations with their children, both believing God, yet different results. I feel heartsick, and I do not know how to move forward.”
I get it. I truly do. When my friend’s son passed away, I grieved deeply. I yelled my many questions to God, crying tears of frustration and powerlessness. Where was the God Almighty? Why could not our friends experience the same miracle that we did?
I felt heartsick, too. It was a familiar feeling.
For 12 years our son was extremely ill. That’s 12 years of sleepless nights. Of vanishing hope. Of watching our son’s suffering while living with seemingly unanswered prayers.
Yet it is our testimony that God never left us.
Is it possible to hold onto hope in the dark night? To have a firm foundation of faith even when everything comes tumbling down?
Keeping the distance
Some people kept their distance when Adrian was sick. Seeing him so ill reminded them of their worst nightmare; that children may get ill, that they may even die. Instead of celebrating every day that we get to spend with loved ones, they pulled away in a futile attempt to shield themselves from pain.
Some people kept their distance when Adrian was healed. Seeing him enjoying his newfound health reminded them of loved ones who had passed away, of battles lost and an empty chair at the table. Instead of rejoicing with us, they stayed away, struggling to reconcile the idea of a good God with the aching hole in the heart.
I get it. I truly do. All through our son’s illness we encouraged him to express his feelings and give his pain a voice. He certainly did. When Adrian was 2 years old, he would scream in pain while frantically kicking his little legs. I held him tight, feeling the full impact of the hard soles of his shoes, leaving my thighs bruised and swollen. I didn’t mind; I was just relieved that he would let his pain out.
I knew that God would want me to give him my pain, too. I did. I yelled. Cried. Held him accountable. He welcomed me with arms wide open.
Life is but a brief season. We are strangers in the earth, traveling through. Our citizenship is in Heaven. We are homebound. Some get home before others, but when our time comes, we are in for the best homecoming party ever. Don’t ever forget where you’re heading.
We are not exempt from pain. Jesus told us that we would go through trials and tribulations, struggles and sorrows. But he chose not to keep a distance. Instead, he’s present. Hope wrapped in tender mercy.
“And everything I’ve taught you is so that the peace which is in me will be in you and will give you great confidence as you rest in me. For in this unbelieving world you will experience trouble and sorrows, but you must be courageous, for I have conquered the world!”
John 16:33, TPT
If you are going through the dark night, don’t isolate yourself. Talk to someone. Talk to God. Give your pain a voice. Scream, yell and kick, if you need to. He can take it.
If someone you love is struggling, then lean in. Don’t shy away from pain. Make a conscious decision to remain present, even when grief seems imminent.
I don’t know what’s ahead for you, but I know that our faithful Father is a miracle-working God. His mercy lasts forever. You see, whatever we go through doesn’t change who he is. He is who he says he is. Yahweh. I am. No matter where we’re at or what we go through. Whether we understand or not. He still is.
Hope is within reach, because He is.