Sometimes, you just need a little something. A little bit of the Father here on Earth. He probably thinks of it as weakness of faith; maybe it is. I needed it, none the less. My world was rocked, not off its foundation, but like an old building built on stone, my walls crumbled when I lost my mother in April.
I was with her when she passed and though I know some people take comfort in that, I didn’t. I cried like I’d never cried before. When I got in my van to go home that day a song came on the radio. A song that fit my pain and my loss so perfectly that it tore out what was left of my heart and left me a quivering mass of tears. That song has come on (literally) every single time I’ve been in my car since then.
Last weekend, I was coming home from a wonderful retreat for Christian writer’s. It was fun, edifying, and productive. I was coming home feeling better than I’d felt in weeks. Then I got a call, telling me that this next week was a critical one for my godson, who has been diagnosed with DIPG, an inoperable brain tumor. First, I felt guilty for having a good time. His parents certainly don’t get a break from the stress of dealing with a son who has a terminal illness.
As these thoughts weighed me down and I lifted my godson in prayer, I just felt heavy. Sapped. All the good things I’d felt just drained from me. I was going home to my four beautiful children, I could take a break. Life isn’t fair.
I keep holding out hope, praying for a miracle. God is in the business of miracles, that’s what I’ve always been told.
I sank deeper. I kept telling myself, God is Good. All the time. So, how can He allow this to happen? Where is He in all this? Is it a lack of faith to question why? I don’t have those answers. I wish I did.
I’d shut off the radio, because my thoughts were too muddled to handle more sensory activity. He whispered to me, “Kari, turn on the radio.”
I refused. I didn’t want it. Couldn’t take it. My heart was too empty.
“Kari, turn on the radio.”
No, Lord. I can’t.
And I obeyed.
That song was playing. It was about two thirds done. If I’d turned it on at His first request it would’ve been the beginning of the song that I’ve come to think of as my God Nod. Proof that He does hear me and He does care.
I know that when I’m ready to run into His arms, when I can handle giving up the reins (it’s the hardest thing about being a Christian) I know He’s waiting for me. He doesn’t promise me anything I ask for. He doesn’t even promise that I will like His answers to prayer. But He does promise me peace if I’ll just let go of the reins and cling to Him instead.