Comfort In the Wake of Crisis: Our Personal God

I just want my husband back, I thought as I stomped up the road and tried to make sense of the journey we had been walking. It was day two of EMDR therapy for my husband’s PTSD and anxiety. I wasn’t seeing many improvements despite the fact that we felt like God opened every door for this counselor to work with Jared in this time.

I was fuming. I was exhausted from the roller coaster of emotion. I was weary of carrying the load for our family for the past eight weeks. I was done with the fear over whether my husband might be up all night again, have another panic attack, and leave me to provide for myself and our six sons while he was on medical sabbatical from work. To top it all off, in the midst of his crisis, our family had downsized and moved into a smaller house. Stress was eating me. Anger rose in my soul. It was all so unfair.

Sanctuary

Four blocks down the road, I saw a steeple. Making a beeline for that church, I ached for a sense of closeness to God; my heart felt so abandoned. I looked up at that cross with tears in my eyes. “Do you even see me? Do you even care?” I slowly circled through the path in the courtyard and around the front of the building. Feeling lost in the shadows, I stepped back to the brick wall up front and sat down.

This Crisis

This crisis wasn’t something I asked for. I never expected this would happen to us. My husband was the strong one. Sure, he had experienced and seen hard things in his career as a morgue assistant and now as a paramedic firefighter, but he handled it well. Or so I thought. Until one day, the life stress of our move, our overcommitment, the unexpected death of his grandfather, and a tough call at work all piled up and sent him into a crisis of adrenaline overdrive, insomnia, panic, and anxiety.

Eight weeks had passed—weeks of chaos, unknowns, kids being shipped to caregivers and back home because of daddy’s instability, not knowing when the next wave of panic might hit or how hard. Would he be present? Or would he get that distant look in his eyes, turn inward, and need me to help him through the struggle?

Finding him curled up in the corner shaking in fear terrified me. Hearing him wrestle with dark thoughts, hopelessness, and brief thoughts of suicidal escape had me near panic, but I knew I couldn’t be weak. I had to hold it all together. Would we get through this? Would he be able to return to work? Would I ever feel safe or protected or able to be vulnerable again?

Strange Juxtaposition

I sat on that brick wall, gazing at the ornately carved church doors. The building rang of history, being near one hundred twenty years old. I imagined the people coming to seek God, to draw close. The strange juxtaposition of my heart surprised me. I was angry at God for forcing my hand, as it seemed to me, down this path of mental illness. I wanted to yell at God. I wanted to scream out how I felt so abandoned, so alone. And at the same moment, I wanted to collapse weeping into His loving arms. I needed Him to hold me. I needed to feel His nearness like I never have before. I needed to know it was all going to be okay.

Lead me to the Cross

I felt a nudge in my heart and a tune float through my head. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket, and quickly looked up Hillsong UNITED “Lead me to the Cross”.

Savior I come. Yes, I was ready to come. I couldn’t do this on my own anymore.

Quiet my soul, remember. I felt a hush grow over my heart as I focused my eyes on that cross high above my head. Yes, I needed to remember.

Getting Personal

Throughout my husband’s crisis, I had been forced to run to Jesus like I never had before. Growing up in a Christian home, I could recite verses about so many truths on God’s character, his consistency, his comfort. But even though I knew these verses intellectually, I hadn’t personalized them.

Woven in and out of the Epistles, a special word is used numerous times - “knowledge.” This word is “gnosis” in Greek and means personal and experiential knowledge (See Ephesians 3:19, Colossians 1:10, 2 Peter 1:3). This form of knowing was not simply passed down information from one person to another. It wasn’t simply understanding or even believing. It went even deeper than that. This knowing was where the rubber met the road, where the truths in God’s word went from words on a page that I chose to believe to words that the Holy Spirit made personal to me. 

In the darkest of moments, when my husband would cycle his thoughts, pacing through the house in a panic, I would find myself curled up in my chair with tears streaming down my face crying out to Jesus. Hold me, Papa. My husband can’t right now. I am so scared. I feel so alone. I would just sit. I would be still. I would be held. And the Holy Spirit would whisper to my heart. 

You are never alone! You are never alone! You are never alone!

And when my husband would feel threatened and be afraid of personal threat, I would feel frightened too. Again, I would curl up asking Jesus to hold me. Papa, I’m scared. My husband is scared. I don’t feel safe. And Jesus would comfort me.

You are always safe! You are always safe! You are always safe!

When the journey continued over the course of days and weeks with no end in sight, I cried out to Jesus and asked how long I must endure. Will this never end? Is there even hope? And Jesus whispered tenderly.

There is always hope. There is always hope. There is always hope! 

Those three statements became what I clung to in the following weeks leading up to the EMDR therapy. God had gotten personal with me, reminding me that he was a personal God and that his truths were true for me too! I am never alone! I am always safe! There is always hope!

New Truth

In this moment, I heard His gentle whisper once again. Remember, Hannah. You are never alone! You are always safe! There is hope! Yet I felt like there was more God wanted to make personal in this moment.

He pointed his finger at my heart. I valued justice, and in my anger, I wanted my husband to know how deeply he had wounded me. Jesus gently reminded me that He is the one who judges justly, and that all would give an account one day – my husband for the mistakes he made and myself for the ways I chose to hold onto anger and bitterness. But there was another option. Hannah, entrust your journey to me. Justice will be done!

All of the pain, all of the tears and sorrow, all of the fears, all of the ways I had given (and many of the ways I had not), they were not forgotten. God had been present each moment of this crisis, each moment of my life. And I could rest in the fact that in eternity, all would come to light. Each will be rewarded according to what he has done. My efforts were not in vain. Even if my husband didn’t see what I had done, even if he never said thank you, even if I felt taken for granted for the rest of my life, God knew. When I felt the certainty of the unfairness of it all, I could rest in the fact that God greatly valued the suffering I was experiencing, and one day if I remained faithful and trusted my just judge, all would be made right!

Justice will be done! There is hope! You are always safe! You are never alone!

My friends, I pray that God will make himself known (gnosis) personally to you, wherever you are, whatever your struggle. May the Lord bless you and keep you, may He be gracious to you and turn his face toward you, and may He give you peace. Amen and Amen!

Grieve: Face to Face with Eyes Open

It’s really easy to want to close my eyes and turn away. Much easier than looking into the face of the paradoxical Father of all Comfort. For if I recall the two most important words my pastor admonished me to never forget, I wonder how God’s sovereignty and his love can truly coincide. Always remember, he said. No matter what, “God is sovereign, and He loves me.” But the sovereign God who loves me who would cause my soul such anguish at loss makes me question this love. Severe Mercy. He whispers in my ear. It is a severe mercy that he took my Grandmother when he did. Severe to my own soul and the soul of my family – a piercing of everything that we held dear and true, a cutting through and cutting off of something, someone rather, that we held so dearly near to our hearts. Mercy toward the one taken. Great mercy. Mercy that she is out of this chaotic and frightful world. Mercy that she is rejoicing in the presence of the Savior. Mercy that I cannot comprehend.

God is Sovereign. His control is supreme. And yet he does things that confuse me – even confound me. Or he doesn’t do things that confuse me even further. Job was more righteous than I as he proclaimed that the Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. He didn’t go in search for answers. Simply the knowledge that God was in control was enough. Oh that my soul could find such rest.

God loves me. Nothing can separate me from it. Height, depth, present, future, angels, demons, death, life – no, none can sever that tender love and compassion. It is because of his great love for me that I am not consumed, for his compassions never fail. (Lam 3:22).

When more questions rage than answers and my soul is faint at sorrow. I must remember. I must. Though a mystery to my eyes bound by earth’s dimensions. God is Sovereign. And he loves me.

And I open my tear-filled eyes to gaze at my Savior. I see tears in his eyes as well. I know you do not understand right now, my child. I care. I’m sorry this broken world has caused you such sorrow. His heart breaks for me. I see the tender compassion as he looks deep into my heart. Continue to grieve my child. I will hold every tear. I will take every question. Grieve. I am here. Grieve face to face with eyes open. Looking to Jesus, the author and perfector of my faith… I am sovereign, and I love you more than you know!

Grieve: Face to Face

I always looked forward to taking family pictures. I loved seeing the smiling faces and how our number seemed to exponentially increase each year – that’s what happens when you are one of five siblings. Each year, new babies or new bellies getting ready for the forthcoming child. The excitement of a new family photo was only diminished by trying to fit everyone in and keeping the littles smiling and looking at the camera. No bunny ears, please! Pictures, always joy – that is until this year. When our number, rather than increase, has decreased by one number. Our faithful matriarch met her Savior on Thanksgiving day. My grandmother, with Jesus rather than with us. It seemed so unfair! And just like that death has hit our family!

It seems surreal and removed when it happens to someone else. I try to sympathize, be present or involved. But it’s hard, and maybe you’re like me and would rather distance yourself because you don’t understand death: it’s unnatural. We as humans do everything we can to stay alive – and then something like this happens, something I cannot control, something that is as certain as tomorrow, but is ambiguous and overwhelming at best.

I try to run, but you can’t. Try to hide, but the thickest covers only suffocate the soul. Gasping for fresh air, maybe try to be strong. Some in the church would say that is the appropriate response to grief. Go numb for a while, look for distractions – those are easy to come by these days…facebook, anyone? Being distracted is easier than trying to figure out what my heart is really dealing with, anyhow. But the dyke of distraction can only hold back the flood of emotion so long. Something sparks a memory, and the tears break through. Emotions, overwhelming and threatening rage as fierce as a storm.

Questions are raised. Questions that haven’t come to the surface for years – the reality of mortality, my own and others, the questions of eternity and wanting to know that I know…..A new hunger for understanding the heavenly realm and longing to feel the nearness of Christ. But grief is a process, and I found myself in a battle – a battle of trying to be strong, to push through, deal with my anger, bitterness, rage, questions and finally land at some point of acceptance and move on. At least that’s what Elizabeth Kubler-Ross said should happen. Maybe they’re fluid and dynamic, but there’s a certain process to grief. After losing my first child and my grandfather within two days of each other and now my grandmother, I’m not so sure any more.

I’ve found myself at a crossroads of sort – and it’s a choice I must make. I can go on like I have been in my own strength and futilely attempting to control and direct my emotions. Or I can turn and gaze into the face of the one who is a Man of Sorrows and acquainted with grief. So often, I find myself turning my back on Comfort, himself. I run away from Peace seeking some sort of artificial replacement in this world. Surely he has borne my sorrows. After all, he holds my tears in a bottle.  Why should I be scared to allow him to see and hold my hurting heart? Why should I deny the pain of loss on this earth? Jesus Christ was familiar with the sting of death. He withdrew to grieve for a time on hearing of John the Baptist’s death. He wept at Lazarus grave. And his bloody sweat ran down his face as he was in agony over his own death. He soul rend and torn so that I, we, could find ultimate comfort in Him – the Prince of Peace.

It’s true. Death is not natural or normal. It was not a part of original design, but a part of the curse. I can rage over these things righteously. For my Savior grieves in the same way. When I look up into his face, tears clouding my eyes, I see the gentlest compassion and deepest mercy. The very nearness of Christ brings light and helps me to understand how his heart breaks with mine. And now I can see clearly too, the tears that fill his eyes as well.

The Elusive Hum of the Refrigerator

June 11^th, 2013 (just after lunch)

 

Chaos – that’s what the last hour and a half has been. Pure Chaos. I got Noah down for his morning nap and proceeded to complete medicine boxes so that wouldn’t be riding on my shoulders when Oliver was here. About 2/3 of the way through (with Gabriel vying for my attention the entire time) Noah woke up screaming bloody murder. Eli asked if he could go talk to him. I said sure, just not to get in his bed. Next thing I know, Gabriel was in the room as well – trying to entertain Noah by throwing toys in his bed …. Where one of the toys obviously hit Noah on the head making him scream even harder.

I retrieved the infant one and returned to the gated office to try to finish up these medicine boxes. The whole time, Noah proceeded to whine and babble about how much he was put off. I finished up as quickly as I could and put the boxes back in the locked closet before heading upstairs to make sandwiches for the boys and myself. I laid Noah on the changing table talking to him as I went. I whipped together the peanut-butter-laden bread with sticky purple jam and cut a pepper. Summoning the boys to the table, I plopped the plates down and strapped the little one in. I thanked God rather rashly before rushing off to the bathroom, closing the door to muffle the screams of the baby. “God I need grace!!!” Noah had been screaming the entire time I was making food and had a very difficult time calming in order to nurse. Several times, he worked himself up again and started the tears all over – there was nothing I could do to comfort him.

About the time he finally did calm, Gabe started screaming for more of something and would not be consoled from across the room. I lumbered into the kitchen with the baby still suckling. I had Gabe start counting – which he did, but as whiny as he could muster. I struggled to fill the sippy and attach the lid with one hand, but finally managed. Then I took Noah to the nursery to finish nursing and lay him down.

Once he was down, I tackled Gabe – too far gone to be worth pushing the rest of his lunch, Gabe accepted my arms and we washed his hands and face. A quick prayer later, he was in bed with a book. Music, kisses, and goodnight.

Eli headed downstairs with his toys and we set him up in the office where I noticed Gabe was screaming again. This time he was frantic because he couldn’t find his “ball ball” blanket. Once I reminded him that he had put it under his pillow early this morning, he settled down pretty easily and fell asleep quickly. I walked out of his room, paused and sighed. All I could hear was the refrigerator humming – what bliss! I finished making my salad and headed out to the screen porch where I started working on this. All too soon, it seemed, little nephew was here.

I took a break from my processing and welcomed him, helping him get settled with toys. I folded most of a load of laundry before Noah started screaming yet again – it was as if he were terrified. I stopped with the laundry and went to pick him up where he startled Gabriel into an awake state who also started screaming, and when I went in to comfort him with the infant one, I shut the door so the nephew wouldn’t come in and he also started screaming….3 at once. What happened to my blissful hum of the refrigerator? I could no longer hear it!

I calmed Gabe, put Noah in the wrap, found new toys for Oliver. Finally, not all screaming. Then I hear my name – from a familiar 3-year-old in the basement. “Can I be done resting?” No, of course you cannot be done my brain thought. It’s only been 30 minutes and I’ve had my fill of being needed!!! I walked downstairs where I explained the situation in a 3-year-old logic. Coming back up, I looked around. My heart was pounding. My breathing was rapid. All I wanted to do was crawl in a dark hole with ear plugs and a cup of coffee and sip until I woke up from this awful dream. I haven’t felt that much panic in a long time.

I’ve felt so distracted all day. Mainly Case Management stuff and looking at the big picture of the next week – feeling like I haven’t gotten the down time I need nor the time with my husband. Freaking out over forgetting the busy days to come, wanting desperately just to tell everyone no and eliminate everything from my schedule. I hate busyness! Part of me began to wonder if I am in a season of life right now where I need to do some of that? My kids are at such a critical stage, and I know how easily I can become overwhelmed (though I haven’t felt it like this in a couple months.)

Surprisingly, I didn’t react like I used to. It all boiled up inside, but none of it seeped out. I looked up. I asked for grace and the strength to walk in the spirit. And he came. It wasn’t a miraculous change. Really, I didn’t even notice much of a shift. But the still small voice said “It’s okay, I’m here.” And that seemed to make it much better.

I still feel a little overwhelmed, and my heart aches for time and space and maybe even the opportunity to cry for a bit, but I know that here in this tough moment, He is here with me. I am not alone. And It will all be okay!

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