On Grieving and the Sovereignty of God Part 2

In part 1 of this entry, I concluded that God's work in me through this time of grief is part of His sanctifying work in my life. I want to continue this discussion and take it from personal for me to applicable for others. Specifically, it must be understood that God can and should be trusted during the hardest of times solely because of who He is: good, loving, compassionate, gracious, merciful, just, holy, righteous, and sovereign. The emphasis here is on God's goodness and sovereignty in the midst of seemingly 'bad' and 'confusing' situations.

Dear reader, God does not lose control of situations, yours or mine. He is not caught off guard. Too often those who profess to know and love God struggle with this fact. If He is sovereign, by definition He is not waiting on us to do something before He has a plan. He has a plan. Let me emphasize: He has a plan. Not many plans. Not items at a buffet from which we pick and choose, and then He says, "Oh ok, I see you've selected that. I guess now I have to..." This thinking is a few short steps to full-on Open Theism - there is a God, but He's effectively as dependent on us as we are on Him.
When faced with grief or suffering or hard circumstances, we begin to ask a lot of questions. We wonder what has happened or why or who did what to deserve this (see John 9). I think of Job. After going through tremendous suffering and persecution, he attempts to answer some of his friends with his own justifications and rationalizations of why his life has turned out the way it did (ch.29-31). The problem is, in reality, Job did not know what he was talking about, and God let him know this in no uncertain terms (ch.38-41).
God's goodness in the midst of His sovereignty demands that we see Him differently, that we focus more on His character than on our immediate situation. In A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis writes the following (p.69):


When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of 'No Answer.' It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, 'Peace, child; you don't understand.'
Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable? Quite easily, I should think. All nonsense questions are unanswerable. How many hours are there in a mile? Is yellow square or round? Probably half the questions we ask - half our great theological and metaphysical problems - are like that.


Rather than questioning God's intentions, petition Him to reveal His character in the situation. "Lord, help me see your goodness in this." "Father, show me Your love through my trials." "Holy Spirit, be my Comforter." This honors Him and benefits you as you 'meet trials of various kinds.' Then, request that He use what you have learned about Him to encourage not only yourself but also the people with whom you interact. You will be blessed, others will likewise be blessed (thus doubling your own blessing), and God the Father in Christ through the Holy Spirit will receive all the glory.

On Grieving and the Sovereignty of God Part 1

Christen wrote this passage in a journal of hers during her own period of grief after our miscarriage. She writes:


My experience with grieving is far from extensive, and I know many others have been through far worse loss than I. However, I do believe that most people miss a rich lesson and intimate moments with our Lord. I once read that a crisis doesn't make you or break you, it simply reveals you. I disagree to an extent. Based on my understanding, to merely get through the grief and move on is to lose a powerful opportunity to be molded, loved, restored, and strengthened. In the moment of a shattered dream, you have a choice to say, "The Lord will use this for someone in the future," or, " [I] trust that He will us it right now for [my] life."


She and I had the opportunity to talk much about how she was processing her own grieving during that time. You see, her grief was tangible. She felt the attachment. This would have been our 3rd child, and so she knew all the feelings she was feeling, what they meant, and what that meant for the baby. The above journal entry came about as we spoke about her feelings with respect to the Lord's nearness. For her, He was so near that it was practically overwhelming for her. Comforting, to be sure, but overwhelming all the same.
We spoke frequently during this time about the depth her relationship with Christ was going because of the suffering she was enduring. She experienced His peace and strength in an entirely new way. She would often say that she would never have known how deep the Lord's peace could be if she had not gone through that season.
When I think about this and read her words, I realize that God is doing something very similar in me at this time. People have said, over and over, they are amazed by 'my' strength. I can only say that it is not mine. Paul writes that it is in our weakness that God's strength is most manifest (2 Co.12:9-10). Note that this is not referring to areas of one's life that could use improvement (weaknesses), as though other areas are doing fine (strengths). It is referring to a state of being. We are weak people, broken vessels. And it is when we recognize this truth and humbly come to Christ that we see His strength enabling us (Phil.4:13).
What I see the Lord working in me is peace and a type of comfort, yet also discontentment. Peace over this situation, comfort in the sense of knowing His purposes are good, discontentment with settling in and getting comfortable. I pray to never arrive at 'comfortable'. I want a holy discomfort with the state of myself, my church, my city. Because I want to see it all transformed by Jesus. Transformation is destructive and terribly beautiful. Thus, God's work in me is not 'only beginning' nor is it 'almost finished.' It is ongoing. This is sanctification. Glory to glory and strength to strength.

January 20, 2012 (Part 2)

I have sometimes wondered whether my marriage, and more specifically Christen, has/had become an idol for me. I sought her joy and happiness, desired her favor and love, lived for her approval, and found union with her most pleasing. I also may be overthinking, something she checked for me, and this may simply be part of my grief. I talked with God today, and the thrust was not "Give her back" so much as "Why did You take her now and not 20 years from now?" It's a selfish line of thought, focused primarily on my interests and secondarily on the kids', but it was what welled up from inside after reading through her journals of our pre-engagement and engagement time...
It was 1 week ago that I preached her funeral (2 weeks presently). Today has been the hardest day since leaving the hospital. I'm unsure of so much right now. I don't want to go anywhere or see anyone, but I also just want to get out and be with people. One part wants to just sit and ruminate on everything the she was and we were; the other part wants to shut all that down and do other things so as to not think about her. When I have silence, I think of her. That makes me simultaneously want more silence and noise.

January 20, 2012 (Part 1)

It's a really snowy day in Chicago. I've been with the kids by myself all morning for what might be the first time ever. And it didn't go well. The biggest problem is that I can't seem to muster up the energy to play and laugh and have fun. Those things have become foreign to me somehow. I laughed and played with Christen all the time. I just haven't transferred that to the kids. Instead, I'm setting expectations and making demands and generally lacking all the grace Christen continually displayed.
Christen always handled these times far better. She had a way of redirecting the kids without always having to be stern. She had her moments of frustration and lost temper, certainly. But she was mostly so even with them. I feel like some sort of roller coaster wrecking ball, correcting first and teaching later. It's a rough dynamic right now.
Add to this my growing sense of loss. I've lost my best friend, my lover, my conversation partner, my helper, my ministry cooperator. She filled in my empty spaces, which are many, and now that's all I see. I had a dream about her last night... But I woke up. And it wasn't real, and nothing compares to reality. [C.S] Lewis talks about this truth in A Grief Observed, the truth that my recollections of Christen are invariably tampered with by my own self. I put my own twists on what was her in reality, twists that can only be corrected by the real Christen (and thus, can never be corrected anymore). I see this already happening, and it increases my sadness...

January 19, 2012

Christen's last words, at least the last words I was present for, were "I love you", directed at me after we'd kissed prior to her entering the O.R. I realize that she was awake and responsive at some point after the biopsy, enough so to say her name and correct someone for saying it incorrectly. I saw none of this, and my bet is that, were we able to ask her, she would not recollect those moments either. Therefore, the last words she consciously spoke were of love for me. This both warms and saddens my heart.
Audrey cried tonight for the first time in front of me specifically because of losing Mommy. She's been putting on a good face and trying to support me (she's 5!), but she finally let it out. We talked about what we miss, what she's doing, and hoped for Jesus to come back tomorrow.

January 17, 2012

I don't sleep well right now. I'm trying to run my brain into the ground before my head touches the pillow. Trouble is, that's always after midnight, Hudson crawls in sometime shortly after that, and both kids want to be up by 7:30am at the latest. I'm right now fighting my cold and Hudson's, Audrey having just come through it. I'm also trying to make sure my kids will be taken care of 12 hours/day, Monday-Friday, until I can figure out a way to effectively work from home (all while providing for my family and paying down medical costs). I have tons of available help, so I'm not complaining. I just loved having Christen doing those things and filling those roles. At the end of the day, even as I fill all the "needs", my kids are motherless, and I've lost "my lover and my friend" (SoS 5:16).
That being said, I preached Christen's funeral. Spoke on Rom.5:1-5... I'm planning to post it to YouTube and email the story and link to Mark Driscoll (whose messages on marriage most powerfully impacted the final two years Christen and I had together and ultimately led to our conversation of my prayer to outlive her and preach her funeral...just didn't realize it'd be so soon and also my first sermon). I want to see this get big. Why? Because Christen was the most amazing person I've ever known, and I'd like to introduce both her and Jesus to as many people as I can. I'll speak anywhere, publish anything, so that the gospel and the glory of God will impact people. These were Christen's themes, and they're what we talked about most. God's glory being magnified through this is what I'm after. I can think of no better way to honor Him, her, or provide for my family. I'm not eager to grieve, but I am eager to see God work in and through this. And me.

Picking Up Where I Left Off

The following article is a collection of excerpts from my journal. I began writing in it not only as a way to begin processing my grief but also as a means of emptying my mind of all the thoughts that were swirling around. I am publishing these pieces in a mini-series at first, in order to catch up, and then continue as appropriate interspersed with other writings. I desire that people know what faith-filled grief can look like for someone in the very early stages and how it progresses over time. Honestly, this is one way in which I am accepting accountability for going through what the next days will bring. I recently told someone that, were it not for grace, I would have quit my job, moved back with my parents, made them raise my kids, and mope about the house all day. Instead, because of grace, I will be returning to work, raising my kids (with lots of help), and laboring to see faith birthed in my kids and many others in the process.


January 11, 2012
Christen passed away two days ago. On Wednesday, January 4, we went in for her MRI...Christen would tell me later that she really didn't expect the MRI to show anything. Neither did I...
The last few days have been filled with more details and questions than I would have thought possible. Services, memorial funds, flowers, burial plots, music, clothes, food, people, people, people...I knew going in that I wouldn't really get to mourn for a few weeks...
The days since the biopsy have been the loneliest days I have ever felt. I'm surrounded by great people: family, friends, loved ones, even strangers. Literally, thousands of people from all over the world have prayed for Christen, me, and the kids. It's amazing, yet I feel so distant from all of that. There is a massive emptiness that I feel inside. She was my best friend and, more than that, a very literal part of me. We spoke often of how "one" we were, how we didn't think of each other in individual terms but rather as one, cohesive unit...
In the days and weeks to come, my loneliness will likely increase as I slowly learn to fill it with more of Christ. I will fight to preserve her memory through storytelling and story-gathering, and I will work all the more for the furtherance of the gospel and the well-being of the Church.
I miss her so much.

A New Chapter

I drafted this post after Christen's biopsy on January 6, 2012. I will be posting a follow up to this post in the next couple of days in order to fill in the rest of what ensued in the days that followed. I am choosing to post this now because it is my desire for people to know how Christen and I were processing everything up to her final moments and from there continue to process through writing out my thoughts and feelings as each day/week/milestone comes. It is my prayer that this will be helpful for people, that it will inspire hope and bring comfort to those who, like me, are in need of comfort.

I am not a theologian. At least, not in the formal sense. I read my Bible, and I read helpful texts by guys with classic names like Spurgeon, Calvin, Luther, Edwards, Lewis and Chesterton and guys with contemporary names like Packer, Piper, Driscoll, Sproul, Grudem and Chan. I find myself most squarely in the Reformed camp, though I believe in the more charismatic form of Spirit-filled living.

Given this, what I write for the next little while will be my best attempt to be biblically faithful, theologically sound and unapologetically real with the current situation regarding my wife's medical condition and our living with it. I want to present, over time, a very real look at finding joy in suffering. I confess, these writings may only be for me and possibly my wife to read. They may extend to my children when they are older to understand more fully everything that is going on. They may simply be my way of processing all that is happening. However, should these eventually get published on this blog or elsewhere, I hope they will be helpful for those that read them. My sincere desire is to see God most glorified in and through my life and the life of my family.

First, let me give the backstory so everyone can be up to speed. Christen, my wife, has had semi-regular migraines since she was a girl. Generally, there would be one a month, maybe less. In October of 2011, she had 6 such migraines. This was our first cause for alarm. In November, she began to experience vertigo and periodic double-vision. She went to a family practitioner who simply thought she had migraines with vertigo. It was also at this time that the hearing in her right ear lessened, essentially hearing as though she were holding a finger in her ear at all times.

In December, she began to feel nausea in addition to the other symptoms. She had seen a neurologist in November who had scheduled her for an MRI. The initial appointment had to be rescheduled due to my insurance not clearing the procedure on time.

We went to visit family over Christmas, and on December 26, Christen woke up feeling terrible. She then went to sleep for, essentially, 3 straight days. On Tuesday, after spending much of the previous night vomiting, I took her to the ER in the small town where we grew up (and were visiting). They gave her some fluids, said it was likely a virus, and sent her home. The next day, Christen did not rouse from her nap in the afternoon and was generally incoherent. This led to a second trip to the ER in the small town, a second diagnosis of 'virus', and a second going home. I had driven back to Chicago to previous night in order to go to work, but this news led me to drive back to Aledo, get Christen, and immediately drive her back to Chicago so that she could be taken care of by her doctors here.

We went to the ER again that Thursday, where the doctor at least admitted that he was stumped by her condition. He said that, due to Christen's already weakened state, we should just wait until our scheduled MRI to get some imaging done. And so, the following Wednesday, January 4, we went for the MRI.

The MRI was scheduled for 6:45pm, and we arrived just on time. However, one of the machines was down, and they asked if we wanted to reschedule for another day given that the wait was going to be over an hour. I had been paying attention to the front desk person since arriving, and I knew that the schedule was booked for Thursday and Friday, so rescheduling would mean waiting until the following Monday at least. I was not okay with this, so I said we would wait.

Christen went in for the MRI at 8:30pm. It took an hour and half, and she hated every minute of it. When she came out, several doctors were looking over the images, and they had us immediately walk over to the ER because they saw something that concerned them. We checked in, and then we waited (that last clause will be a recurring theme).

After some time, we were seen by a representative of the neurosurgery team. She informed us that Christen had a few 'lesions' on her brain, that we were going to be admitted overnight, and some more of her teammates would be by in the morning to talk to us in more detail.

The next morning (Thursday, for those keeping track) became the next afternoon before we were visited by anyone who could give us more information. We met with the neuro-oncologist to go over the images on the MRI. They showed that Christen had tumors in her brain that were sizable and of concern. One had hemorrhaged some time recently but the bleeding from it had ceased. We traced it back and determined that the hemorrhage likely occurred the week Christen was sleeping and could not be roused.

The neurology team decided to biopsy the most concerning of the tumors, which was located in the central part of her brain, relatively deep (thus rendering it inoperable). The biopsy took place on Friday, January 6, but not before she had to go through another MRI. While she still did not like it, this MRI went much better.

This brings us up to the present and where the discussion really begins. During the biopsy, there was a small amount of bleeding that took place, and so they ran a CAT scan on Christen prior to waking her up from the anesthetic. They determined that there was no reason to do any emergency surgery and so she was sent to recovery and then the ICU for the night.

While I had been prepared for the possibilities of the side effects of the anesthetic as well as the procedure itself, I simply could not have been prepared for what I walked into in the ICU. It was the most frightening experience of my life. Christen was on the bed looking very pale. Her lips and cheeks had a yellowish tinge to them, and she had roughly a two inch sliver of her hair shaved, displaying the scar where the incision was made. All this, on its own, was not frightening. Her eyes, though...they were.

At first, she stared at me, and I did not see recognition in her eyes. She did not say anything, either. It was then that her nurse told me that she was not really speaking and she was not moving her right side. Again, I knew the potential of this given the operation and the anesthetic. But seeing it in person was a major shock.

Once I pulled up a chair and got closer to her, I believe it registered who I was, and she gave me a grin. This was reassuring. Nonetheless, she was unable to speak to me at any point while I was there. The nurses came in to give her a cathader, giving me the opportunity to do what I really needed to do: go to my car a break down.

I have never had a panic attack, nor am I much of a cryer. I do cry, but it is not that often. In the car, I sobbed and was breathing in such a way that, if I had allowed for it, I could have hyperventilated. I think it's the closest I've ever been to all out panic. I was certainly fearstricken. And I had words with God for the first time (we had been praying all along, but by this I mean I had it out with Him). I asked Him not to take her. I told Him that I know she's precious to Him, but she is to me too. I told him I didn't want to give her to Him.

This is selfish, I know, but this was the reality of where I was. I believe there is a place for Psalm 4 to come into play, which says "Be angry, and do not sin." I was angry, and I certainly hope that by taking it directly to God rather than being angry at God toward other people I did not sin.

After composing myself, I went back in to the room, prayed for Christen by her bed, and then went home for the night so that I could rest and prepared for what was going to be a long, hard weekend.

This brings us up to the present. It is 1:10am on, technically, Saturday, January 7. From here forward I will write on not only the happenings of this chapter of life but also how I process it. It is my desire to, above all, see God glorified through our lives. If this means He chooses to do a miracle and heal Christen outright, praise Him! If it means He chooses to hold that miracle off so that He can display His grace in the midst of suffering, praise God! He is good at all times; He is trustworthy always; He is faithful no matter what. I can truly say that we count it a privilege and an honor to be counted worthy to suffer as Christ did while He was on the earth.