Family Ties
They both called on the same day: my son and my father. One called to see how I was doing. The other called to tell me how he was doing. Long conversations in both cases. Neither call was expected; both calls made my day.
There’s something about family, isn’t there? The source of our greatest pain and our greatest joy, both rolled into one. Odd, isn’t it, how love and pain seem joined at the hip?
I remember standing beside my now 18 year old son’s crib when he was only an infant. He’d just endured a life-threatening operation removing half of his right lung. His breathing was labored. The night nurse, concerned, would not leave his side. Neither did I. I seriously wondered if he’d ever grow up. It’s not a pleasant memory—even now.
That night, I had a choice to make: would I succumb to fear and anger, or surrender it to God? Thus far, God hadn’t seemed to keep his end of the bargain. I’d never felt so angry and helpless in my whole life.. Retreating to a quiet room, I gritted out these words: “My child belongs to you, Lord, for you alone know best. His future is secure, Lord, my heart can lie at rest.. I don’t know what tomorrow will hold in store for us. But you alone are faithful; in you alone I trust.”
Yes, he survived, and is now a college athlete. But that doesn’t diminish the pain of that evening — nor do I have the stomach for pat answers about God’s will, yada, yada, yada. Pat answers make me puke. The truth is, he suffered, we suffered; I didn’t like it then, and I still don’t like it.. For me the most honest thing to say is this: “Lord, I do not understand you. But I choose to trust you.”
Were there space and time, I could share significant pain, too, as it relates to my father. The bottom line, again, is: Love and pain are a matched set. Can’t have one without the other.
Many of us can’t accept this truth. We avoid pain at all costs. Tough relationship? Trade it in . God lets you down? Cash in your chips. Church not meeting your expectations? Quit. Consequently, our life trail is littered with broken promises, bad memories, and shallow relationships. We never experience the rich textures of love because we never wade through the depths of disappointment.
Before having surgery a few years ago, my shoulder would sometimes separate. It was painful! In order to find relief, I faced a difficult decision. I could remain relatively pain-free in my disjointed condition. Or I could move my shoulder directly into the pain and return it to its natural position. I had to face the pain to find freedom.
Choosing to surrender my child to God despite apparent abandonment was painful, too. But it was the only path out of fear, resentment, bitterness, and a host of other things which would destroy my life. By choosing to accept pain I was able to embrace love — both for God and for my son. I’ve never regretted it.
“My child belongs to you, Lord; With joy I know ‘tis true. I entrust his care to you, Lord; Please keep him close to you.”
There’s something about family, isn’t there? The source of our greatest pain and our greatest joy, both rolled into one. Odd, isn’t it, how love and pain seem joined at the hip?
I remember standing beside my now 18 year old son’s crib when he was only an infant. He’d just endured a life-threatening operation removing half of his right lung. His breathing was labored. The night nurse, concerned, would not leave his side. Neither did I. I seriously wondered if he’d ever grow up. It’s not a pleasant memory—even now.
That night, I had a choice to make: would I succumb to fear and anger, or surrender it to God? Thus far, God hadn’t seemed to keep his end of the bargain. I’d never felt so angry and helpless in my whole life.. Retreating to a quiet room, I gritted out these words: “My child belongs to you, Lord, for you alone know best. His future is secure, Lord, my heart can lie at rest.. I don’t know what tomorrow will hold in store for us. But you alone are faithful; in you alone I trust.”
Yes, he survived, and is now a college athlete. But that doesn’t diminish the pain of that evening — nor do I have the stomach for pat answers about God’s will, yada, yada, yada. Pat answers make me puke. The truth is, he suffered, we suffered; I didn’t like it then, and I still don’t like it.. For me the most honest thing to say is this: “Lord, I do not understand you. But I choose to trust you.”
Were there space and time, I could share significant pain, too, as it relates to my father. The bottom line, again, is: Love and pain are a matched set. Can’t have one without the other.
Many of us can’t accept this truth. We avoid pain at all costs. Tough relationship? Trade it in . God lets you down? Cash in your chips. Church not meeting your expectations? Quit. Consequently, our life trail is littered with broken promises, bad memories, and shallow relationships. We never experience the rich textures of love because we never wade through the depths of disappointment.
Before having surgery a few years ago, my shoulder would sometimes separate. It was painful! In order to find relief, I faced a difficult decision. I could remain relatively pain-free in my disjointed condition. Or I could move my shoulder directly into the pain and return it to its natural position. I had to face the pain to find freedom.
Choosing to surrender my child to God despite apparent abandonment was painful, too. But it was the only path out of fear, resentment, bitterness, and a host of other things which would destroy my life. By choosing to accept pain I was able to embrace love — both for God and for my son. I’ve never regretted it.
“My child belongs to you, Lord; With joy I know ‘tis true. I entrust his care to you, Lord; Please keep him close to you.”