in the presence of Peace

The past month has tested me; it has tested my persistence, my patience, my intelligence, my abilities, my stamina, and my faith. It's months like these that produce cliche quotes such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger", and embodies the meaning behind James' words, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance" (James 1:2-3).

Throughout our son's medical journey, I have had peace that can only be described as supernatural. It has kept me radically calm and steadfast in circumstances, diagnoses, and unknowns that left people unsure of my truthfulness when I told them I was doing well. I have never been lying. I have been sustained; been given every thing I have needed in every moment, through the supernatural peace of The Living God and that peace has allowed for me to be calm, collected, certain. I have not been blanketed with worry and God has been faithful in His promise that I do not need to be.

God provided everything I needed to walk the road we were on.

It did not mean I was never left with questions or that I wasn't concerned for our son's health and wellbeing--of course I was, anything less than that would be neglect and disregard.  In the last year, Hezekiah has endured three surgeries during which 8 different operations have been done and even I have been shocked at the degree of calm I have felt and expressed.

But in the last month... something changed. 

For the first time in Hezekiah's medical journey I felt completely at a loss and entirely overwhelmed. I welcomed his new feeding tube with hope and excitement. I saw it as the much needed help to this crisis of weight gain and growth. I still believe that it is, but I did not anticipate the mounting challenges, difficulties and unknowns. I did not anticipate how it would affect his already complex med management. To top it off, his surgery took place just days before resident assistants moved onto campus to begin RA Training with my husband (a Resident Educator). 

The few weeks following his surgery are my husband's busiest weeks of the year, so when the new class of freshmen moved in on August 18, I was hiding in our campus apartment, sitting on the floor crying so hard I couldn't go anywhere. 

Mostly, I felt alone. Not just physically alone, but alone in my thoughts, my concerns, my calculations, and my decisions. I was completely overwhelmed and didn't know what to do. Something was not right with Hezekiah and I needed help getting answers and resolutions. If I laid out all the details of his pain and the challenges with feedings it would just take too long--you'd stop reading--and the point of what I'm sharing is not to rehash those sucky details of why I was sitting on the floor ugly crying, the point is: I was sitting on the floor ugly crying. Read: desperate low point.

I felt like my insides were imploding. Where was this coming from? Why was I breaking down? I was confused, because I was the all-around healthiest I have been in a long time. I've been exercising almost every day (almost, because I mean, real life here, people), eating well, and making time to be with The Lord and for genuine sabbath in my life. But the reality was, I actually could not stop weeping. How as any of this more difficult than anything we had yet endured? It didn't make sense.

A mentor gently reminded me via text to practice being in God's presence and, to be frank, a part of my insides felt offended as if he had told me to stop my crying! But that isn't what he had said at all, now is it? I began to reflect on the idea of being in God's presence and I chaotically and instantaneously laid out the past year in my mind and compared it to this moment--why now? what about this in particular has me so broken? where did that peace go? what am I doing wrong? I was at a loss on what to do and how to best care for our son and it was hard and uncomfortable.

I was also feeling the tension of the co-existing paradox of my internal being and my external behavior. In my spirit, I had peace. I had already gone through my truth list and I was certain of God's sovereignty and goodness. Yet my external behavior was a circus of all signs pointing to, "No peace here!" 

And then somehow... sort of like that moment when a blurry image comes into full focus... I recognized being in God's presence exactly how I was. 

The enemy had been whispering lies to me that I couldn't actually be in God's presence and still be a wreck. Being in God's presence promised to bring peace so I obviously didn't know how to draw near to Him since my flesh was anything but 'peaceful'. 

But I was there. I was right there at the foot of the throne of a High Priest who can empathize with my weaknesses (Hebrews 4:15). I was sitting in the presence of the Prince of Peace and He was leaning in closer to me just as I was.

Recognizing God's presence didn't make me stop crying; it didn't take away my responsible concern for my son and it didn't make me feel like it needed to. God's presence in my struggle allowed me to be weak, to express everything that was inside without any guilt or shame as if feeling anything but peace is somehow a lack of faith. 

On the contrary--God's peace is God's presence and sovereignty in the struggle. Recognizing it, embracing it, hoping in it, believing it is there and that it is big enough to console you in your struggle and carry you through, that is faith.

Two days after that long afternoon and evening of doctor appointments and questions, I was the sole party responsible for accidentally yanking Hezekiah's g-tube straight from his tiny tender stomach with the balloon still inflated. 

Friends, saying I was a hot mess is an understatement.

And you know who was right there with me? Well besides my panicked husband, my slightly traumatized 7-year-old, and my oblivious 3-year-old...   the Prince of Peace.

And you know what I didn't hear The Prince speaking over me, "You need to calm down. Stop crying. Think about this logically. Everything is fine. Don't you have my peace? Relax." (all those things worked up women LOVE to hear 😉) No, Peace was just there. Like that loyal friend who sits close to you in your darkest hour and just feels with you instead of offering up a gamut of solutions. Like a parent who scoops up their wounded child and rocks them back and forth offering only a "shh shh shh, I'm right here. I'm right here."


For whatever reason, this whole feeding tube bit and all its challenges had me crazy weak, baffled, and unsure how to proceed, but I am practicing being in the presence of the Prince of Peace just as I am--no facades, no getting fixed-up first, no in-front-of-guests' behavior--and it's crazy amazing. I'm learning more about God's love, God's goodness, and this mind-boggling peace that transcends our understanding and our flesh. I'm seeing it at new depths and through a new lens.

I'm not done crying. 
I'm not done pouring over numbers, calculating feedings and medications, or asking lots of questions.
I'm not done carrying the appropriate weight of responsibility as my son's advocate and care-taker. 
I'm not done making mistakes and feeling terrible about them.
I'm not done being a hot mess on any given day of the week.

So I'm going to keep leaning into the Prince of Peace just as I am, because He loves me and that's enough to transform who I am for the better and sustain me for whatever lies ahead.