We’ve been visiting friends and family back in Oregon now for a couple weeks. In that time I’ve been painfully aware of the reason we moved to Alabama in the first place. The constant joint subluxations and migraines that were my life when I lived here were all here waiting for my return. Now added to that is the stiffness from my most recent diagnosis that makes it hard to breath and move. I have thrown myself some pretty epic pity parties, rivaling Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Unfortunately it’s only for a party of one so none of y’all are invited. God gently kept trying to remind me of His faithfulness but I kept reverting back to my party for one. Until yesterday….
The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air. The last 24 hours had turned the dry and desolate desert into an ashen wasteland. As Jason and I walked around our property I was shook at how close the fire had come to taking out the home we raised our kids in. The “hill” that they used to sled down was smoldering ashes now. The paint on the front of the garage was bubbled up and blistered from the heat of the flames. The porch has a hole in it from where a hot ember had landed, ignited, and started to crawl up the wall of the house. Thankfully a firefighter “happened” to see the smoke and was quick to spray down the house and knock the flame out. The south east corner of our property was bordered by ash, smoldering trees, and destruction. As we surveyed the damage a smoldering tree burst into flames again. The whole scene had a surreal feeling to it.
In my life I’ve encountered so many fires. Seeing my children suffer either at the hands of others, poor decisions, or medical issues, along with my own medical diagnosis and chronic pain. Each one of these times I’ve questioned God. Felt like they were burdens too heavy to carry. Slowly breaking under the load. With each fire I walked through I’ve been surprised to look back and realize, not only did I survive, but somehow I’m stronger on the other side. The pastor this morning was preaching on John 16:1-4 where Jesus is telling His disciples at the last supper of the trials to come. As I listened, I thought over all the trials I have faced and was overcome with gratitude for all God has done…and then the pastor said, “Your hardest day is still ahead of you. You haven’t walked through it yet.” Y’all this scared the bejeebers out of me. I’ve watched my daughter experience pain that shook her to her core. I’ve watched my son be isolated and swallowed by darkness. I’ve felt pain that made me want to give up living. My hardest day yet to come doesn’t fill me with a lot of hope. As he continued he pointed out that through all the hard times in the past it wasn’t our faith or our ability to endure, but it was God’s grace and mercy. That as we walk through the hard times that God is gracious to give us the faith we need to continue following Him. In other words, when my “hardest” day comes, He will provide the faith and the strength that I need to endure. Just as He has over the previous forty plus years of my life. As I sat there, I looked back at all the answered prayers over the years. My son is now surrounded by people who love him and is on fire for God. My daughter has been healed from the wounds that threatened to swallow her. And God was even gracious enough to move us to Alabama, a place we love and I feel way less pain there. Friends and family we’ve prayed for were sitting next to us in church praising God. All blessings that I don’t deserve.
As I surveyed the damage from the fire, seeing how close we came to losing the house, I heard a small voice. “It’s a simple house that I protected from the flames, how much more will I protect you?” Yes, my life, like most of yours, is marked, scarred and scorched by the fires around us, but we’re still standing by the grace of God “Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ;” Philippians 1:6