He Numbers Our Days

Ever since I was told that a mass was found in my liver, the memory of the day we first found out dad had cancer has been running through my mind. You see, my situation is scarily similar to that day. He woke up one Monday morning in October with abdominal pain. Being the stubborn man he was, he refused to go to the doctor until the pain was so severe that he was sick from it. Mom brought him to urgent care, where they ran some tests, and while he was there, the stress he was under caused his heart to fall into an irregular heartbeat called atrial fibrillation. The doctors there felt they were unequipped to deal with any heart problems so they sent dad to the local hospital. Mom called Alyssa and I to give us the update and we immediately left our jobs to meet her and dad at the hospital. By the time he reached the hospital, his pain was gone despite having received no treatment for it. I remember a doctor walking into his room and looking like he wished Alyssa and I weren’t there. I imagine it’s because we look younger than we are and he figured we wouldn’t be able to handle the news he was about to give our family. He told my dad that they couldn’t figure out what had been causing his pain, but that he had a much bigger problem to worry about. There was a tumor the size of a baseball in his liver. Tests hadn’t yet confirmed it, but we all knew in that moment that it was malignant. And so began dad’s journey with bile duct cancer.

For the past couple of months, it has felt off and on like the right side of my abdomen was swollen. I didn’t pay too much attention to it, though, since everyone’s body is asymmetrical. But then I started having some pain on the right side, too. That, combined with getting a bruise the size of Australia on my right hip bone and not knowing how I did that, convinced me that maybe I should get checked out just in case something was happening I didn’t know about. I went to urgent care. The doctor poked and prodded my abdomen and came to the conclusion that my gallbladder was likely unhappy. He sent off some bloodwork and told me I should get some imaging done. I followed up with one of my doctors, who also poked and prodded and came to the conclusion that my gallbladder was unhappy. She sent me for an ultrasound right afterwards. Throughout the scan, I was convinced that the radiologist would see gallstones, tell me I needed surgery, and I would then move on with my life. Finding something in my liver was simply an irrational fear based on past experiences with my dad. But he didn’t find gallstones. After reviewing the scan, he came into the room and told me that my gallbladder looked fine, but that he had found a small mass in my liver that needed to get checked out further.

While obviously not exactly the same, the similarities between these two occurrences has been weighing heavily on my mind. It almost feels like this mass is sure to be cancerous simply because that’s what happened with my dad. And it scares me. God gave so much grace on Tuesday when He allowed me to see the “Echo Holy” perspective, and I am so thankful for that. I didn’t sleep much that night, though, and found it difficult to keep that perspective yesterday while feeling so tired. The fear started to overtake me and I found myself texting my dad’s phone for the first time since he died. I wanted to feel like I could talk with him about this because he would understand exactly what I was going through. What I sent was raw emotion. Straight up fear. Anger. Doubt. This is the side of me that I do not usually show on this blog. And while I hope you never have to experience these feelings while you walk through a trial. While I hope you will be able to walk through trials with the constant perspective of being ready and able to “Echo Holy”, I feel that it would be dishonest to not share this side of things with you. Because the likelihood is that there will come a moment when you surrender to the fear. And if I only show you the calm side of trusting God through something hard, you may feel that you’re alone in your fear. And I wouldn’t want to make you feel that way. So here is a portion of what I texted my dad yesterday.

“I couldn’t fall asleep last night. I miss you. When I first heard about the mass in my liver it was easier to have the right perspective on it. But now that I’m sleep deprived, I’ve run out of patience for everyone and everything. It feels like every time I start trusting that there’s a way God could make all my dreams come true even with my crappy health, something like this happens that strips that hope away. The not blogger side of me feels like this simply isn’t fair. Dad, I don’t want cancer. I’m sure there is a lot that I could learn through it. But I don’t want it. How do I find the peace that I had yesterday afternoon when I was first processing this news? And how can my feelings have changed so quickly? Why do I feel like I’m drowning when I should be walking on the water instead? And I know this can all result in the honor, praise, and glory of God but why can’t that happen through something small instead of something this big and scary? Dad, what if I have your cancer? What then? He didn’t heal you. So why would I have any hope that He would heal me? How could I know how to echo ‘holy, holy, holy’ with the angels yesterday but not know how to do that today? I feel like a fraud. Writing all these posts to help people walk through their trials. To encourage them. I feel like Peter when he told Jesus that he’d die for Him only to turn around and deny Him three times just a few hours later. Maybe that’s why God let that happen. Because He knew this day would come for me and that I would need the reminder that Jesus would forgive me for my doubting. That Peter still moved forward and did great things for God and His kingdom. So it’s possible for me to get past this and do great things for the kingdom too.”

Please know that I didn’t share this with you so that I could receive comments encouraging me, telling me that I’m not a fraud. I shared it because that was one of many thoughts I had yesterday. Many doubts. Many fears. And many, many, many tears. And it’s one of the reasons I chose to share this post with you today. I want you to see both sides of the Christian’s trial. Or, at least, both sides of this Christian’s trial.

Shortly after texting my dad, I told my sister how I felt like Peter and she responded with the very words I needed to hear. “Don’t forget that Jesus prayed for Peter.”

Luke 22:31-32 – “Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail.”

My brothers and sisters in Christ, when you feel that your faith may fail, you can pray to your Lord and Savior. You can pray to the One who prays for His people.

You can rest in knowing that the Holy Spirit intercedes for you.

Romans 8:26 – “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groaning too deep for words.”

You can boldly approach the throne of the Great High Priest who understands our weaknesses.

Hebrews 4:15 – “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.”

You can pour your heart and your fears out to the One who has promised to never leave His people.

Hebrews 13:5b – “…for He has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’”

In the moment I was texting my dad’s phone and many hours following it, I didn’t know how I could get back to echoing “holy” with the angels. But my God was faithful through my doubts and my fears and my anger. As I sat in church last night, He reminded me that it wasn’t “fair” that He should take the punishment for my sin and die on a cross for me, but He did it anyways because He loves me. He reminded me through the Pastor’s message that He would walk with His people through the valley of the shadow of death. He reminded me that I have the family of God surrounding me, ready to give me a hug and pray for me when I don’t have the words to speak. I still don’t want cancer. I’d be crazy if I did. But if He asks me to walk with Him through that valley of deep darkness, He has reassured my soul that it will be okay. Just because He didn’t heal my dad here on earth doesn’t mean that He wouldn’t choose to heal me. And, no matter the outcome, His honor, praise, and glory are, indeed, worth the pain even if it doesn’t always “feel” like they are. I owe my Savior everything. My life is not my own. And He reminded me today that He has numbered my days.

Job 14:5 – “[speaking of mankind] Since his days are determined, and the number of his months is with You, and You have appointed his limits that he cannot pass…”

In His infinite and unsearchable wisdom, my God has appointed a day for me to leave this earth and join Him in eternity. I don’t know when that day will be. And I don’t know what He will use to take me from this earth into eternity. But I do know that I will never forget the day my dad said he was ready for his appointed day. He had spent the entire year prior convinced that the Lord was going to heal him of this cancer a second time. It was almost like he was desperate for that. That he didn’t want to consider the possibility of any other outcome. I understand that feeling. But two days after Thanksgiving 2018, he was in the hospital with pneumonia and mom, Alys, and I received a call that morning saying that the doctors believed he wouldn’t be alive much longer. We were told to fly the rest of his family up and to come as quickly as we could. When we got there, he seemed fine and we felt that the doctors had overreacted. Two friends, fellow pastors, stopped by that afternoon to talk to, pray with, and encourage my dad. And while they were there, he told them that he was ready to go home if that was what the Lord wanted. I was both stunned and comforted in hearing him say that. He entered a deep sleep that night and the next time he opened his eyes, he was in heaven, staring into his loving Savior’s face.

I am not ready to go home today. But the Lord has used that memory to reassure me that when my day comes, He will prepare my heart and give me peace. I can trust my Lord to hold each one of my days. I can trust Him with their number. I can trust Him to walk with me through the valleys of life. Brothers and sisters in Christ, so can you. He will walk with you through your moments of fear and doubt. And He will bring you safely to the other side. To the side where you find yourself able, once again, to echo “holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come.”