Good morning, God,
It’s me again.
Remember me?
This morning I did something that seemed quite normal. I woke up, opened my book of daily Bible readings, and reflected on a few verses.
As I’ve done most of this year, I looked for some words that stood out
(today it was ‘set you free’ from Romans 8:1-5). My aim has been to have these words percolate
throughout the day. In some ways, just
another morning devotion. I muttered a
few words of prayer. A little time spent
with you. Not that amazing, really.
The bookmark in the book opened to September 11th,
a day that for me will always be ‘ the day my wife Shannon was told she didn’t
have long to live.’ Since that day I’ve
had little interest in sitting with you for a morning devotion. I have known that you remained by my side but
I haven’t felt like engaging in a conversation.
I’ve attended worship but have felt like I was just going through the
motions.
God, I admit that the last two weeks have very
self-focused. I’m wrapped up in caring
for Shannon, a task which I do with relish.
She’s a wonderful woman and I have nothing else I’d rather do, but being
in charge of someone whose health is failing takes a toll! I'm sleeping in a cot in her hospital room. I’m coordinating
a visiting schedule so Shannon doesn’t get overwhelmed with people. I’m planning a funeral, I’m making sure that
her business continues smoothly, I’m trying to get exercise (to keep sane), I’m
wondering what life will be like as a single man, especially once Ben goes off
to college. It’s about me. Things have turned inward.
This morning, as I woke up and lay there thinking (something
that happens around 4 or 5 am every day…it’d be nice to get a full night of
sleep for a change), my thoughts shifted to Shannon. What must life be like to be standing at the
brink of death? Here I am thinking and
making plans for the future. She will
never see that future. Her future is
with you, not me.
As you know, my faith has always centered around this
hope. From the moment of my mom’s
funeral when I was a mere seven years old I have clung to the resurrection with
my whole being. Now that hope is for
Shannon. It’s the only hope we
have. She’s eating and drinking little. She’s losing weight and energy. No matter how hard we try to keep her strong
our options are limited. God, your
options are not. I’m not going to beg
and plead for a miracle. I know all too
well that death is a part of life.
Shannon will die, but in you she will rise. She will life with the glorious saints. I won’t pretend to understand what that looks
like, but I do trust that you have it all under control.
So, for this one morning, I’m reaching out to you. I’m trusting in your faithfulness. I know
that Shannon will be ‘set free.’
Tomorrow the cares of this world may again overwhelm me, but right now
your resurrection floods my soul. Thank
you for that.
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