One of the joys I’ve had in the past few weeks is exchanging correspondence with relatives with whom I haven’t talked in years, sometimes decades. One particular relationship that Debra and I treasure is with my great-uncle Robert Mann. He claims that we have met at family reunions. I’m sure that he’s right, but, more than likely, I was too busy playing with my father’s fire extinguisher* to remember.
Uncle Robert sent us a letter with a picture of a bear he saw at Yellowstone Park, in reference to the post about Ian’s close call with a bear in our yard. A treasure to us was the following quote. It was from a booklet that a friend of his wrote.
Sorrow is really a stewardship. And sorrow is apt to be selfish if we are not careful. Rightly borne, sorrow in your life may mean strength and courage for someone else. I think there can be no doubt that some trials are permitted to come to us for no other reason than that through them we may be able to give sympathy and help to others.
If we suffer rightly, we make a contribution to the alleviation of human grief, and to the triumph of good over evil, love over hate, and of light over darkness.
That first line resonated with me: Sorrow is a stewardship. God is entrusting me with this time, with this experience. I can waste it feeling sorry for myself or for Ian. I could go off on a two-week bender. I could grow angry and bitter. I could sink into depression, and lash out at anyone who would try to reach me. I could go into denial, pretending that nothing has changed.
All of those might be perfectly acceptable human responses. But, if I allowed myself to venture down any of those paths, I would miss out on what my Lord is trying to accomplish through this. If I truly believe that God is sovereign over every atom, every subatomic particle in the universe, then this was not a random occurrence. That thought is one that at the same time is both impossible to swallow and of great comfort: God allowed my son to develop an inoperable brain tumor for a reason. I may never know that reason, at least not completely, this side of eternity, but there is a reason. On one hand, the thought that the God of the universe, who loved me to the point of death on a cross, allowed my little boy to develop a horrible illness, for which there is no cure, is difficult to swallow. From a purely human viewpoint, nobody would blame me if I shook my fist in defiance at Him because of this. There is no answer to the question of “why?” that will answer my limited, fleshly intellect.
Yet, I constantly pray that I would see my life not from a human viewpoint, but from a perspective of eternity. From that point of view, the idea that this happened for a reason is a great comfort. This was not a random occurrence, but this is carefully orchestrated, and it’s very possible that something glorious is going to come of it. Earlier in the decade, when the IT industry was going through its “correction” and I was between jobs, I grew fond of a saying: “God is never late. He just loves dramatic endings.” Case in point: during one jobless period, Deb and I determined that if I did not get a job and get my first paycheck by the end of May, we would need to start the process of selling our house. However, God provided me a job, and I got my first paycheck…on May 31st. My Lord provided in His timing, and by relying on Him, we have been able to give Him the glory.
There is a plan for this, and I don’t have the luxury of knowing what the end is. I like to think that my son will be healed completely of this tumor. Whether it’s done supernaturally, or through the experimental treatment he’s on, I care not. But even if Ian is not healed, I am still responsible for what is happening now with my life, and how I approach this season. Even now, God is investing in me. He’s pouring out his compassion and kindness through family and friends. He supports me on a daily basis, emotionally, spiritually and materially. Through this time, my Lord is developing and nurturing something that He will use for His glory later. It’s not up to me to know what that something is. My responsibility now is to be in the moment, seeking His gentle mercy and perfect will.
*True story. It was fun. Definitely worth the spanking.
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