“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.”
My Favorite Cup of Tea
I had pneumonia once when I was 20 years old. It was like living in a walking nightmare. I couldn’t breath for what felt like an eternity. I lost 20 pounds because I could not eat. So every time I contract a lung sickness I get nervous because I will never forget hovering over a vaporizer with Vicks while I struggled to for every breath.
My illness is a minor agony compared to what many others endure. Joni Eareckson Tada provides great perspective in this regard. The view from her wheelchair has been at times gloomy, but she throws open the shades and shines like a diamond in the sky with her attitude of grace. I recently heard Chuck Swindoll tell the story of a conference at which she was speaking where attendees numbered more than the seats and the people were complaining rather loudly. Joni went before the crowd and said, “I understand many of you are complaining about your chairs. I don’t always like the view from mine either.” Yes, Joni reminds me perspective is important.
My best friend called to tell me she is struggling with foot pain. “The pain is unbearable,” she said. “And all I did was walk around the grocery store. Do you think I should take some ibuprofen?” The question was sincere, but I still had to chuckle. Knowing her as I do, I know how strongly she feels about taking over-the-counter meds. We who attempt a holistic approach to keeping our bodies clean sometimes struggle over what many would consider fairly simple solutions. For example, I take a pretty strong stance on attempting natural remedies before I take antibiotics. I do this because of the rise in antibiotic resistance bacteria. So the question about whether to take anti-inflammatory medication in response to excruciating foot pain provoked the good humor in me. My response was simple, “Yes.” Because honestly, sometimes I believe we are too hard on the relief modern medicine provides.
But sometimes the answers aren’t so easy. Sometimes the pain is of a different sort. A dear friend of mine is currently walking through such a dark night of the soul. A few years ago she lost her son in a tragic motorcycle accident. I can still remember where we were when she relayed the news and the exact expression on her face. I longed to take her in my arms and hug the pain away but I was at a loss for words because at that time I didn’t know her very well. And now there is more. As if the embers of that loss could ever grow dim, a new diagnosis has sent a deluge of worry, fear and ambivalence–like buckets of gasoline lined up next to a smoldering fire. One of her loved ones is stricken with cancer. With each doctors visit a new flame shoots up and threatens to consume her. So when she looked at me recently and said, “Margaret, I can’t take any more. I’m going to crack.” I felt the weight of her grief and struggled with how best to respond.
“I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted within my breast; my strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death.”
I reach for my cup of tea and and ponder the plight of humanity. We don’t always like to acknowledge it, but we are utterly helpless. Sure, we try to cover our sickness with medicine, and our weakness with bravado. We muster fortitude like a banner and wear our big accomplishments like shiny badges. But there is no cure for cancer–only treatments. There is no fountain of youth; we all die. Everyone’s approach to death–the ultimate curse–is different, but whether we revel in pleasure and pretend it won’t come, or prepare ourselves into madness and depression, we will all lay in a coffin one day. And that’s if we’re lucky enough to be able to afford one.
I’m not a mystic. I’m not a philosopher or sage. I’m just Margaret and I’m walking through this life trying to figure out my place in it. So please don’t read this and think I know I have all the answers. What I do know is that sometimes life is like a tea pot; the water heats up, the pressure builds, and then it screams. It screams because it has to relieve the pressure and as long as that water is boiling, the steam must get out.
The Perfect Gift
“But you, Oh Lord, do not be far off! O you my help, come quickly to my aid! Deliver my soul from the sword, my precious life from the power of the dog! Save me from the mouth of the lion!”
I recently sat with a friend at the courthouse while we waited for her attorney to meet with the judge. She has been rejected by her husband for another woman in a culture that is not her own. She struggles with the English language and she doesn’t understand our legal system. I am angry for her situation and I want to help her, but I don’t always know how. So I did the only thing I knew how to do, I sat with her while she cried and held her hand. I held her steady lest–like a balloon–she bob away on the current of emotion and get caught on a tree limb. Because that is what friends do. I am not a saint or an angel, I’m just a person who has been there. And I remember when someone held my balloon string and kept me steady.
“I will tell of your name to my brothers; in the midst of the congregation I will praise you: You who fear the Lord, praise him! All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him, and stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel! For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him, but has heard, when he cried to him.”
King David once wrote of such agony in Psalm 22. He experienced betrayal by his closest friend, regret from his failures, and the pain of losing a child. He was a great king, a fierce military man–a fighter. He trusted God to hear his cries for help and to provide relief for his deepest and darkest agonies of the soul. Now maybe the person reading this thinks the Bible is just old musty tales, and that’s okay. I just know that it gives me hope. Its story of redemption calms my soul. The gospel tells me that yes, my situation is hopeless, but there is one who entered into this world and suffered unspeakable agony to deliver me from mine. He is the great holder of balloon strings. And I trust Him.
Tomorrow my friend will sit in a hospital waiting room while they cut the cancer from her husbands lungs. My other friend will look for work in a strange culture while trying to speak a language she doesn’t always understand. Another will seek to relieve the foot pain that makes every step sheer agony. As for me, today, I will retreat to my bed. There I will convalesce under the covers with my Bible, the words to Abide with Me – Indelible Grace, and a heart that is grateful for the kind of love that not only hears my prayers but satisfies and soothes the agonies of my soul.
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