We’re nearing the year landmark of the Heidi-cancer journey. Mid-December, she was airlifted out of Cameroon to Germany and got her first blood transfusion. Right after Christmas 2018, we got the diagnosis–cancer.
The emotional landscape of the past year, for me, has been all over the place. Deep distress. Crying out to God. Sudden hope. Strong faith that God was going to weave beauty out of every ounce of pain. A sorrow that was somehow sweet because of God’s presence. Trauma from witnessing intense times of physical suffering and being utterly powerless. Then, a nervous breakdown. And deep darkness.
Right now, if I could describe my emotional and spiritual state in an image, it’s me in darkness sitting up against a wall. The wall that divides me from God.
The thing I didn’t expect during this year? The messiness. I was determined, earlier this year, to “do it right.” To suffer well. I’m a believer–I have God and the gift of the Holy Spirit–surely I was equipped through him to take every step of this journey with sure footsteps.
I would have said, even as late as August, that I was ‘doing well’–and ‘doing it well.’ Please don’t imagine some kind of self-congratulatory pride-fest here–I genuinely just wanted to honor God in the way I suffered through my sister’s brush with death–or even eventual death. I wanted to make the right sacrifices of time and energy, have a servant’s heart, be strong, still uphold my family, be flexible, dependable, rooted in Christ, praising God in the storm, a witness to the kingdom, and a joy-bringing presence to Heidi.
Then, September happened. And I broke. I blogged about that. I was crying out, and God was gone. Simply gone. There wasn’t a glimmer of hope, and there wasn’t a way out. It was me in despair, hemmed in by shadows deeper than I knew existed, the God who was supposed to be there was gone, and I might as well die.
I’ve had a few echoes of that moment since then, and I’m desperately trying to frame it into a story. I’m a story-teller. I want meaning, and beauty, and lessons. I want a suffering that teaches and heroines who learn, and climb through the dark towards light and glory. I don’t want pain to be the last word. And yet in those profound moments of pain all I wanted was to die so that I could stop suffering. I wanted pain to finish me off–and the nightmare was, it wouldn’t. I would have to keep on living like this. In awful, profound darkness that not even God cared enough to break through.
I’m so disappointed in myself, and in God. I thought I was stronger than this. I wasn’t. I’m weak and angry and broken. I thought God was more constant than this. I thought he swooped in to rescue you when you were at your lowest. He didn’t. He didn’t with me. And I was less like Job and more like Job’s wife. Curse God and die. He’s gone, so you might as well.
I’m not who I thought I was. God isn’t who I thought he was. It’s a mess. Cancer has unraveled all my paradigms and left me holding the bits of a life and a self and a God I thought I understood.
Right now, I’m not feeling as desperate, or as panicked. Heidi’s blast cell counts miraculously dropped to a level where she’s able to get the transplant she needs, though that in itself is a long road. But the trauma of those times of what felt like abandonment by God remains. And I continue to try to fit it into a story–any story.
The two big questions I have right now are,
- Why was God gone when I needed him the most? Why does he let his loved ones shatter? Why can’t he be relied on to show up in those moments? And if he can’t be trusted to show up then, how can I trust him at all?
- The suffering I’ve seen this year has been so wasteful. So inefficient. So excessive. I don’t know how to formulate that into a question, but it burns there in my heart. Why so much of it?
I want to understand why, particularly for me that night in the yard when I yelled horrible things and wanted to self-destruct, I experienced that emotional shattering.
Was I a victim of nine months of suffering and trauma and stress and grief? Or did I somehow choose that path because I’m a weak sinner who stopped leaning on God? Did I break down because of a lack of faith? Am I at fault, or not? Does it even matter?
It feels important to understand why I broke, and what it means. And yet, I can’t seem to put it into a narrative.
I expected a neat story. I expected to be able to trace my feelings to causes, and for God to be the umbrella over it all. That has not happened.
Instead, I’m sitting here surrounded by darkness, not a story in my hands but a bunch of unraveled, tangled strings, not understanding, with a wall behind me and lacking the tools to even begin to take down the wall–or the energy to even move towards doing that.
Will God give me answers to these questions? I don’t think so. Because these have been some of the questions humans have cried out with since the dawn of time. But if I’m not getting answers to these questions, I at least want peace in the mystery. At least that. God’s presence, and a sense of peace. I used to have that. Why couldn’t I hang onto that?
I want God back. I want him to break through. I’ve asked for it.
Where are you, God? Why have you left me?
You know, we are all right there beside you, at least emotionally and spiritually so. Some physically. We pray every day, and more when you post and remind us. The little miracles, some not so little, are the fruits of our prayer. Heidi will do better, and probably worse, and then probably better – or not – but the love and concern is more or less constant.
Permit yourself the grief you are certainly enduring. Permit yourself the disappointment, the anger, and tears. But please don’t quit.
I know that words are always inadequate, but that’s what we’ve got. Continuing to be in prayer for Heidi, for you, and for all affected. The sun will rise tomorrow.
Thank you Robert. I won’t quit.
Lots of love.
I’ve read those words many times before, but in another language: “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?”
He was there (that cold, lonely, dark place, other side of the wall) so He’s the only one that can truly understand, and the only one that can sit beside you.
Sad and praying, little sister.
Emi, funny thing (well, not funny at all…)–those words have been on my mind constantly the past few weeks. I’ve never wondered at their strangeness before. But for Jesus himself to say “Why have you left me alone?” is jarring. Especially the “why.” Surely Jesus would know “why.” Surely he, of anyone, should understand. He planned the whole thing, after all.
It’s a glimmer of something in my heart, that Jesus experienced that profound aloneness. It’s made me think that, beside all the unique/special things he did on the cross that only he could do, maybe that experience of death and darkness overcoming us and crying out in despair as death rises up “where are you God and why are you GONE!?” is profoundly human.
Oh, my dear, blessed Jenna! You have been SO gifted with the ability to write and express, coupled with the honesty that many of us are afraid to face!! I don’t have that ability, but what I DO have is time… years more of walking this road of life and faith with all its vicissitudes, wanting to quit being a missionary, wanting to quit God and Christianity (dare I admit this publicly?!?!). Though I tried to “let go” of God, He held me – and it has taken not a few years to feel restored and solid again, able to rest in Him or cry out to Him whether with praise or with dismay.
I will tell you the same thing I said to Heidi as I hugged her before leaving Madison that awful Rare Unicorn of Grief Sunday when she was determined to die:
I know. I get it. But, not yet … not just yet.
Rest while you lean your back against that wall … this, too, shall pass. He is closer than you know and WILL bring you through, not instantly perhaps, but in the right way in the right time.
Hugging you!!! Mom
Oh, Mom. Hearing about your journey is SUCH an encouragement to me. I love knowing that you let go and God didn’t. I’m not happy you went through that … but I also am, because it gives me great hope.
Love you SO, so much.
❤❤❤❤❤
LOVE YOU to the moon and back. … no, to infinity and beyond!!
Wish I could sing this with you in person.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LmAOcHqvS0Q
Take heart dear soul. Watching and praying for you.
Wish I could sing this with you in person:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LmAOcHqvS0Q
Take heart dear soul. Watching and praying for you.
Thanks Laura. Love you.
Dear sweet Jenna, two phrases that stood out to me in your post and comment section were: “I’m a story teller” and, (courtesy of your Mom): “You have been SO gifted with the ability to write and express, coupled with an honesty many of us are afraid to face.” Please keep telling your story. (I can only imagine what Heidi’s story is, or her hubby and children’s, or your folks.) Sometimes we need to hear the Truth from another perspective (even from a sibling sitting in darkness on the sidelines… doubting… questioning… been there, done that) to truly draw us closer to God. He hasn’t left you! He’s let you flounder for a reason, if only for the rest of us to witness your pain — for now. God has a plan.
After my sister died in 2014 (can it really be 5 years ago?) I was a mess for the next four years. Hers was an unexpected death, but equally as cruel and daunting. Not sure which is worse — being faced with an unanticipated loss or watching a loved one suffer who held onto to hope while the rest of us wondered why such a loving God will allow such things? (My brother died from esophageal cancer in 2006 after a year-long battle, as I probably mentioned.) He shared his testimony until the end — while sharing Bibles with everyone who came to visit him (which he ordered by the case from a Christian bookstore) and I was humbled by his ongoing belief, trust, and positivity. Me, not so much.
I guess what I’m trying to say is: Even though things look bleak now (and you feel surrounded by darkness), however things turn out for Heidi will be for the best — for her. For the rest of us, it takes a little time. God allows quesions, doubting, and disbelief. Don’t beat yourself up. As for me, one of my greatest consolations is the fact that my sister is dwelling in the house of the Lord forever. I miss her on earth, of course, but I couldn’t be happier for her. No more tears or pain — ever. How I envy her.
Wishing you the peace that surpasses all understanding… but please, keep telling your stories! xo
Oh Kim, thank you for sharing even more of your story. My heart aches for you. Losing your sister suddenly and unexpectedly–I can’t even imagine. “Nightmare” only begins to describe that. And your brother–you’ve had more than your share of pain and loss. How beautiful that he was able to share the gospel to the end–but I echo you–the whole “trust” thing hasn’t been rock steady like I might have hoped for myself. Oh well.
I will keep telling my story no matter the twists it turns, and part of me under it all knows that it will end with me in Jesus arms.
Jenna! This is Anna the actress–from that one 9 month stretch in Chicago–you graciously let me into your life and let me play with your children at the playground. I just wanted you to know that I am praying for you and Heidi. Love to you and your family.
Thank you Anna!! Lots of love to you.
Jenna…I have a picture of you at three months old being held by your mama and me sitting beside her with my six week old, Charissa. Charissa was twice your size… If I remember correctly you came early…so tiny…but you were a fighter from the start. Weak but mighty…
As I’ve read your blogs I think back to that time realizing that God had intended for you to be a fighter from the start… I can see your strength even as you unzip your soul and show every bit of your weakness. You are a picture of courage. I know you don’t feel like it…but courage is facing the storm even in your deepest fear. It’s walking in darkness without a shred of light. You may not voluntarily be there…but you ARE there.
I live on the bay and frequently look for sea glass… When I find glass with sharp edges I throw it back into the crashing waves without even thinking. I’ve learned that more time it gets tossed and thrown it will eventually show up on the shore again only this time beautifully frosted with smooth edges…
I’ve walked with Jesus nearly 60 years and can tell you the darkness you describe has been there more times than I cared to experience… I, like you, wondered where had He gone. My soul was numb. God had thrown me back into the sea and had left me there to sit in darkness…or so I thought.
I can tell you, like your mom…that I can say with confidence He had always been there. And yes…He was silent…either that or I could not hear. God has a plan. He is using you even in your darkness and unbelief to speak to so many hearts that need to say what you’re saying. Your story is still being written. So is Heidi’s.
I’m praying for you both… More important…the Holy Spirit is interceding on your behalf. He knows what to say. The best is yet to come… I believe it and I will believe for you during those times you can’t.
Thank you Claire. Hearing–repeated through many stories from Christians further down the road than me–that this is something that many followers of Christ feel and experience, and that later you return to the assurance that he was there all along, is deeply wonderful. I can’t wait to be in that place again. Thank you for your wise words.
I have experienced similar feelings while walking with my sweet mum in some of the toughest times of her life. It is so hard to see anything when in pain and grief… and also the idea that there is literally nothing you can do to fix what your loved one is going through and that sucks. A verse that I clung to despite not feeling God at times is Psalm 34:18. It didn’t talk about me being able to feel Him… just that He was close to the brokenhearted and he would save those crushed in spirit -hearted.
There are so many things I would love to share regarding my walk through hardship, but I realize there are no words that will fix anything. So just know… a girl in Wisconsin who has only been able to spend a short period of time with you is “sitting next to you in spirit” and would love to help carry your heaviness for a while. ❤️
Oh Ann, I’m so sorry to hear that you’ve been through similar times with your Mom. Yes, it is one of the hardest things I’ve experienced in life–being inches away from intense suffering with no power to fix it and prayers for comfort and relief that seem to go unanswered.
Thanks for sharing the verse that meant so much to you. I’ll be dwelling on that one for sure.
Thanks so much for these words.