What I Really Meant to Write

Sometimes there is a pain so deep, so grave that in passing it is impossible to write about. The intensity of the emotion can still even the most active of pens. This pain is not fleeting such as beauty nor does it let loose of memory. It quiets the mind and enrages the soul.

Such is the pain my family has endured for the past 2 ½ years. Between the gaping calendar dates of each entry in my prayer journal are unwritten prayers and untold stories of hopelessness, agony and cries for mercy. Sometimes those holes were silence…because at times, there were no more words to pray. Only tears. If I could fill in the missing days, weeks, and even months it might look something like this. Life is beyond strange. I remember the day that I walked into my Cultural Perspectives class following the phone call that completely changed my comfortable world. I had spoke with my dad regarding a shocking diagnosis of his health—severe cardiomyopathy, or heart failure. At that time I wasn’t even sure what those words meant. And I definitely do not remember what my professor taught that day. But I could feel my own heart racing inside of me, with every beat a new question about my family’s future.

I know that tragedies happen to people everywhere, everyday. But that doesn’t make it easy. When extreme sickness comes upon you or someone close to you, life pauses. On the outside, everyone goes about their business, rightfully so, while your life is stagnant, like pond water in a world of rolling rivers. Others get older, marry, have children, work, take vacations, and simply live, while you are simply surviving, holding almost every breath for fear of what awaits the next. With every new day in the hospital, every doctor’s visit, checkup, every test ran, you hope for good news in your heart while the pit in your stomach wants to tell a different story. After months of bad news, better news, good news, and bad news again, you wonder if the insanity of the situation will ever end. This kind of life is utter chaos. It is a serious mental, physical, emotional, spiritual, chaotic struggle to remain somewhat normal. There is an abundance of adjectives in the previous statement, but every one of them remains true to what has been.

I have learned and am still learning so much about myself, my family, my friends, and my Lord throughout Dad’s sickness. Just as Dad’s original physical heart was dilated and scarred from disease, my eyes have been opened to the stark reality of my own spiritual heart, dilated and scarred with sin. I have learned that people’s hearts will be revealed in a time of suffering. I am so thankful for those who have stood by my family, praying faithfully, and believing with us in our times of despair. And I have been surprised, disappointed even, by some who have cowered from the situation, showing themselves as they truly are. I have been astounded by the support and faith of those we have encountered in the medical field. Thank our God for doctors who believe in miracles! I have learned that no matter how dark the hour, Christ is there. He has spoken and is still speaking to me, my family, and those surrounding us. I hope we continue to listen.

How many nights I have cried myself to sleep, persisting, begging, pleading for a miracle, I cannot say. How many times have I prayed the line, “Please Lord, just heal his heart,” remains countless. But seeing my dad today, two heart transplants and a stem cell transplant later, I see insurmountable miracles. Throughout the misdiagnoses, the strokes, the biopsies, the crazy rare disease, the chemotherapy, the surgeries, the WAITING, he is still alive only by the awesome grace of Christ Jesus. The Lord alone receives the glory for the miracle of Dad’s health, if even his life on earth ends today. Because today is really all any of us are promised.

Video of my family's journey:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGenZDXnASE