And so we begin. On the edge of two seasons: almost done waiting and almost ready for surgery. I’ve handed off and prepared everything I could in order to be fully present with Mom through the next phase of surgery and recovery. I’m humbled and grateful for the dozens of people who have picked up various parts in order to support our family so I’m free to do this, and for the community supporting Mom.

There are further seasons to this cancer journey, but I can’t see past the one step ahead of me. The ironic thing is that we often fool ourselves into thinking we can indeed see many steps ahead, yet we can’t. Nothing is guaranteed. I have a new understanding that I don’t know what tomorrow holds. But I do know the One who holds all things together. So I may wail, but I won’t despair. I may be struck down, but I’m not destroyed. I may be sorrowful, and I will hopefully learn to rejoice. As Christians, our bodies hold the death and life of Jesus simultaneously. It seems counterintuitive, or flat out impossible at first, but it matches where we are in God’s story. Sealed with the Holy Spirit, yet waiting for final salvation from God’s wrath. Adopted, yet waiting for the arrival to our new home. Made fully, positionally righteous, yet struggle with sin daily, waiting for our righteousness to be made perfect. Seeing in a mirror dimly now, and one day seeing fully.

My strong emotions don’t mean I don’t trust God. They mean I do. I trust him enough to feel them and to bring them to him. I used to live very shut off from my feelings. God has continually called me out of that numbness because it was self-protecting, and in so doing, self-harming. I was living as if I knew best, and distancing myself from God, thinking how terrible he was at protecting me from pain. Yet I was keeping myself from the very One I needed most in my pain. You see, I didn’t realize the truth of being a Christian that Jesus reminded us of often in Scripture. You need to take up your cross and follow him (Luke 14). Provided we suffer with him in order that we might be glorified with him (Romans 8). Through many tribulations we will enter the kingdom of God (Acts 14).

There are moments I feel God’s word to be true. And there are moments His promises feel very hollow, as a friend so aptly put it. If my faith were based on my feelings, I’d have stopped believing in Jesus a long time ago. No, he’s the anchor when my feelings toss me around. I need God himself, and I need a God who is great, wise, powerful, just, good, steadfast, loving, and holy, to name a few, more than me or any other human or created thing is able to be.

I’m in a storm, and I’m going to cry out. Jesus isn’t asking me to just grit my teeth and bear it. He isn’t asking me to recite Bible verses about how good he is. He isn’t asking me to put a smile on and fake it til I make it. If he’s really God, Creator of the Universe, Savior of all who trust in him, dead and risen again, Lord of everything, holding the universe together with the word of his power, King of kings and God of gods, and if he really is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit, if he really is for me and has engraved my name on the palm of his hands, if he really will walk with me through the fire and flood, then I will be brokenhearted. Then I will be crushed in spirit. Then I will enter the fire and flood. Then I will cry out. Let’s see if he really is, and really will. I’ll keep you posted.