Skip to main content

Trust.


We’ve been doing a lot of trusting these days. Over the last few months Dad has undergone some tests that have shown the targeted therapy he has been on for the past year has begun to lose some of its effectiveness. He will continue to remain on the targeted therapy but has also been accepted into a clinical trial at the Princess Margaret Hospital in Toronto.

I must admit that when I first heard the news about the cancer starting to grow again, I was disappointed but at peace. A strange mix of emotions that are hard to grapple with. I have complete faith that God can heal my Dad fully and completely, I am disappointed that He hasn’t yet. I have hope that all things DO work together for good for those that love God and are called according to His purpose, but I also want to see my idea of what His purposes are be the ones that are fulfilled. I am certain and secure in His goodness and love, but I wonder what part of His goodness and love could mean possibly losing my Dad.  

Christina is a dear friend of mine and her father, Harry, was in a tragic bike accident last year and is now quadriplegic (please add him to your prayers). We have wrestled our way through emotions to find the solid ground of truth together this past year and I am grateful for her. She was able to give words to what I was feeling: ‘We are children of God,’ she said. ‘And like a child we see the Father withholding something we see as good, but a parent always has more information and a reason why something is withheld…and it’s usually for the continued good of the child. That doesn’t make the child less certain of the parent’s love or break the child’s trust in their parent, but it does come with frustration on the child’s part. Because they don’t have the knowledge to see how it will work out for their good in the end.’

C.S. Lewis really says it best in his book A Grief Observed: 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.’

We continue to pray and trust.

Comments

  1. Still praying for your Dad every day as I have for many many years.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Continually praying for your Dad....God is good even in our trying times He's there with us! Keep trusting!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. You are a precious daughter of God and know your dad is so proud of you . I am standing with Pst David and declare Psalm 107:20 and agree with you in faith . The one song I loved Pst David singing when I first got saved was Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus. I trust God with you all and believe for Davids healing. He is still is one of the greatest Pastors in my eyes . Stand strong Pst David and family God is fighting for you all. Love you all !

    ReplyDelete

Post a comment

Popular posts from this blog

Lead well.

We’ve hit a steep part of the climb. We found out most of this news on Wednesday, April 24th. You're finding out now because nothing was conclusive and Dad wanted all the i's dotted and t's crossed before sharing anything. His cancer is stage 4, aggressive and, according to doctors, not curable. It's in both lungs and also in his spine. The doctors are doing what they can to give us as much time as possible. This is hard news. Yes. But I need to tell you about when we received the news, as his children, on Wednesday, April 24th. Everything I just shared with you was shared with us that night. Mom and Dad expressed great thankfulness for the kindness they had received at the hospital and they told us about the wonderful doctor and compassionate nurse. And then Dad, thorough his tears but with deep conviction, said: "You need to know that Christianity is true. Mom and I haven't given our lives to the cause of Christ on a whim. Jesus is alive. Everything

He is good.

When Dad called us to tell us that he had been diagnosed with lung cancer, we were all in a state of shock. At the end of the call, my brother, Josh, prayed and thanked God for who He is and that we can trust Him with anything. When talking with my sister, Beth, she shared that she had been praying that we would want above all else the Healer, not the healing, and the Saviour, not the saving. It's not what we hold on to in this journey, but who. My response is usually to write something so I wrote a poem: I know you are good It's all that I know Everything else is uncertain Your goodness is sure Your love surrounds me Your peace is secure You hold me in the storm You hide me in your arms I'm fixed to you—not going anywhere You will never let me go For you are good No one in our family thinks that our journey is the only one. Many of you reading this have walked a similar, or harder, path and have your own stories to tell. Our story is one of many. Our pray