Ami | When Mercy Found Me

A month and three days.The pain is still just as crushing, and I suppose it will be for awhile. I don’t think there is a defined timetable though–some magic date when I’m ok. People keep telling me that it will get easier. Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps they’re wrong. I don’t know. Sometimes I still think, “How is this possible God? Wasn’t there another way?” God’s grace is overwhelmingly tangible, but likewise so are the extreme emotions. It has not gotten any easier. There are days when God gives grace to speak abundant truth to myself and others. Days where I can see God’s hand. Days where I know He is working in and through me. Days when I want to serve and minister. But more often than not, there are days of intense struggle. I wonder when there will be a day without tears. I wonder when I won’t feel like I have to hold it together for my Kinders all day, and then weep on the way home. I wonder when it will seem like I have a future. I’m learning that grief is not black and white. God’s spirit within me might be saying one thing, and my emotions totally the opposite. I’m realizing that it is possible to trust God even in the midst of questions. It is the Gospel, of course, that makes me free to struggle.

For days God has put on my heart that it was time to post again. But I’ve avoided it. I didn’t think I could tackle “this” subject, not yet. But God keeps bringing me here. So I guess I’m just going to ramble and we’ll see where my thoughts take me.

When we went to the ER that night, I don’t think either one us of expected that I would leave alone. I most certainly did not. I had even packed a bag because I was sure we’d be transferred 45 minutes away to a larger hospital (where Jon’s cardiologist was), just like we had been the week after Christmas. This trip was different though. This time everything happened fast. It seemed as if the entire nursing staff was in there doing something, and they were all doing it quickly.

But I still thought it would be ok. In my head, the only plausible scenario was that Jon would be going into surgery once we were transferred to St. Anthony’s. After all, we had just seen the cardiologist two days before. He had ordered more invasive tests, planned to schedule surgery shortly thereafter, and was definitely frustrated that he couldn’t see exactly what was going on. He assured us, however, that Jon’s symptoms were not life-threatening. So I sat there preparing myself for open heart surgery, Jon’s long recovery, financial pressures, putting our desire for children on the back burner… This was the suffering we had seen coming. This was the suffering about which God and I had had many conversations.

And as they worked, Jon was still being Jon, talking, telling them he hated being stuck with needles. In those moments there was never a glimmer of thought that he might die. God would not take me through that. At one point the doctor said, “Ok looks like your blood pressure is high enough and stable enough to transfer you.” But still they worked at a feverish pace. So either there was much they weren’t telling me, or they couldn’t foresee things turning badly either.

There are some details about the ER that I just can’t write, nor will I probably ever write. It was trauma in ever sense of the word. I’ve already replayed them a thousand times in my mind, as it is. But reliving the most horrific moments of my life does not help. It is not healing balm for my soul.

I realized that things were serious, but I still didn’t know. As the nurses flurried in and out, there wasn’t much time for conversation between Jon and I. But I told him at one point, “Babe, I know you don’t want them to do these things, but they have to. It’s ok lovee,” and he said, “I know, love.” But the nurses were everywhere, so that was it.

Right before the unthinkable, God gave us one beautiful moment. A nurse moved out of the way, and my darling love looked at me with eyes so full of love, adoration, but yet sadness too. And I gazed back at him. Then it was gone. The nurse once again blocked my view. Perhaps Jon had realized then; I don’t know. I still did not. But between us passed the depth of our love, without any words. i’m so thankful for that moment. Praise God for grace even then.

And then almost immediately, life shattered. They tried to bring him back for over an hour. At one point, they had. But God said his days were done.

Now I must take us on a small rabbit trail, but there is point. It all interconnects.

Jon was a preaching junkie. He listened to podcasts all the time. It was one way the thirst for truth manifested itself. And he usually wrangled me into his passion as well. One sermon we listened to months ago was “The Underestimated God” preached by Lig Duncan from Together for the Gospel 2012. Jon had gotten to go to the conference, but still listened to all the messages again when he got home! See what I mean, sermon junkie. But I digress.

So let’s connect “The Underestimated God” and the Night in the ER. I listened to the sermon again recently and God is still overwhelming with me its truth. It’s all about suffering. And idolatry. It’s about when life’s expectations are unfulfilled or shattered. And it’s about the “ruthless compassionate pursuing grace of God, in which He relentlessly goes after His servants for His glory, and their everlasting joy.”

And that’s just it. Somehow, the most horrific night of my life is God’s grace. God is relentlessly coming after ALL of me. He wants it all. And somehow this will work out for my everlasting joy. My joy!! I don’t understand it, but in taking Jon, He will show me so much more of Christ than I would have ever comprehended or thought possible. When I think about the night my expectations were shattered, God enables me to say with confidence say that Jesus is the best, even when my emotions say opposite.

Ok, so I’m probably not being very clear at this point. Well, then here’s what you need to do. Go listen to the sermon! For real. Seriously, use your smart phone and listen to it while you drive. I promise you, it will be some of the best 57 minutes you could ever spend. There is so much there that I haven’t even scratched the surface of in this post. And Lig Duncan can say it so much better than me. I’ll even attach the link: The Underestimated God– Ligon Duncan

When I edited Jon’s posts, I told him that people wanted to read small chunks. Ha! I guess I don’t take my own advice. But, I warned you this would be a ramble.

“Lord I know that you are relentlessly pursuing all of my heart. As I continue to experience all of the extreme emotions of Jon’s death, the longing for him and missing him, I know you are teaching me that you are enough. Somehow it is your grace that took Jon home. Somehow it is in your grace that you have stripped it all way. You want all of me, and I want to learn to give it to you. You are doing in my life what will lead to everlasting joy. It’s hard to see Lord. But faith is trusting when it doesn’t make sense. Lord do what you need to do in me! Lord thank you for tangible grace. I cannot neglect to write of your goodness even now in the depth of the valley…”

Psalm 138:8 “The Lord will fulfill His purposes for me; your steadfast love, O Lord endures forever…”

He’s still relentlessly pursuing my heart. To read about God’s continuing, tangible grace…

He is Abundant: Reflecting on a Year After Death

Anticipating Tomorrow

An Oak of Righteousness? Two Years After Death

I have always been fascinated by bloggers, but never considered becoming one. Ever. I’ve written for myself for a long time, but not published for others to see.

But those of you who knew my Jonathan can testify of his persistence and exuberant passion for anything he set out to do. Things were done with wholehearted devotion or not all. So, before Jon died he felt strongly that he needed to start writing again. And I agreed. My love had a fantastic way with words, and I knew without doubt that God would use his words to encourage others and spread the gospel. I always told him that someday he should write a book. Blogging was perfect for Jon. And I was content to be his cheerleader, his behind-the-scenes “editor and chief,” as it were.

Even as I type these words, I smile because I imagine him with a smirky grin saying, “I told you that you should write, lovee.” You see, though we had no idea Jon’s earthly life would end so suddenly, it seems as though Jonathan planned his blog for me. In my mind I hear him saying,”Ok, now you have no excuse. The blog is already set up for you.” Of course, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, he had persistently told me for months that I was the one who needed to write. Stinkin Jonathan Andrew! I love you, but this is not funny! However, when Jon set his mind on something, he usually got his way. So, somewhat reluctantly, here we are. My first blog post ever.

My desire is to continue what Jonathan started. I want his legacy to spread as far and as wide as God wants to take it. He would not want himself praised though. He would want Jesus exalted and magnified. My husband lived with reckless abandon for God and the gospel. He was captivated by Christ. He lived and breathed that others would know the truths of redemption, propitiation, and adoption: to have the same hope and confident expectation. Oh that I would have even half of his passion! I always told him that God had great things planned for his life. This is still true.

Even in my grief and sorrow, by grace that only God gives, my soul cries within me, “My life is yours! Take it and do with it what you want, Lord!” I recognize my utter need for and dependence on Him. I’m a big mess. I can’t even get myself out of bed in the morning, nonetheless express thoughts and feelings for others to see! God has seen fit to strip my faith and life down to only Himself. He is teaching me the reality of “Hallelujah, all I have is Christ! Hallelujah, Jesus is my life!” He is teaching me to trust Him when the bottom falls out, when all I hold dear is gone.

However, I must admit, I still selfishly view this endeavor as merely for myself. I’m writing for solace, comfort, and healing. But I suppose I give you permission to look over my shoulder.

Questions. Answers.

In the weeks since Jon’s death I’ve been brought to questions that I never thought I’d ask. “How can this possibly be good, and how can you possibly expect me to praise you? Why didn’t you save him God? Have we struggled to live faithfully and obey you for nothing? Do I still believe you are who you say you are?”

And in answer God keeps taking me to a journal entry I wrote a week before Jon died.

“Father, I bow my heart to you, and I recognize my deep need for you. Lord I’m feeling pretty overwhelmed because of Jon’s health. The not knowing and waiting for answers and a timeline for surgery is hard. Lord he just coughs and coughs at night, and I feel helpless like there is nothing I can do to make it better. His cough has definitely gotten worse over the last few days, and nothing seems to be providing relief. He feels achy and exhausted. I think we are both feeling emotionally drained. Father I pray you would help us trust you. To trust that you are sovereignly in control of all things, even congestive heart failure and pulmonary edema. Lord, I pray that surgery would be in your timing. If we can’t wait till summer, I know you will take care of us. I know you will provide. You are faithful. You have always met our needs. Help us to draw near to you. Continue to strengthen Jon spiritually. Give him abundant grace to to be dependent on you. To know that you are strong when he is weak.”

And after that prayer, God gave me overwhelming truth from His word:

Isaiah 43: 1-4 “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shalt not overwhelm you; when you walk through the fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. I gave Egypt as your ransom, Cush and Seba in exchange for you. Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored and I love you.”

“You are mine.” — ‘What defines me is not my guilty blindness, but the Grace of the One who chose me. I am secured by God’s resolve to be glorified through my salvation.’ (From the ESV Study Bible)

“When you walk through the waters…” Trials and suffering will come because our world is still broken. Because I still live on a fallen planet. Though God has put a new spirit within me, my physical body is still broken. The brokenness and deep waters will always be there until Jesus restores all things and makes them new. But to His chosen ones, there is great promise. “I will be with you.” The God who lovingly, artfully, masterfully formed me also chose me and purchased me. This God says He will be with me. The God whose love has no boundaries says that He will walk with me through the water and fire. He will protect me, and He says my soul is secure. Jesus already absorbed all of God’s wrath for me on the cross. I was the “worm” from Isaiah 41, but Jesus died for me! And now, though I can’t fathom it, He calls me precious, adored, chosen, His own possession.

Psalm 66:10-12 ” For you, O God, have tested us; you have tried us as silver is tried…We went through fire and water; yet you have brought us to a place of abundance.”

There is such beauty here! “place of abundance”– after the fire and water! Lord I believe you will bring us again to a place of abundance. I know we must go through dark times–the water, the fire– to be more like you, and in order for your reflection to shine accurately through us. For your name to be glorified.”

All of this I wrote a week before life crashed around me. God knew what He was doing. I didn’t know He was preparing me to face inestimable pain. But even these words are grace.

The answers to my questions are rooted firmly in the character of God, and the reality of the Gospel. Yes, God. You are who you say you are.