Embracing Presence

It’s 2 AM. My house is quiet. I lie awake, wishing my post-surgical pain away. I ask the Lord for grace to endure. I ask Him for strength to make it through. I stare at what appears to be a stopped clock, waiting for it to tell me it’s safe to take more medicine. And in these moments, I ponder yet again who God is, who I am, and our relationship.

Three days ago, I returned home from a seven-day hospital stay. I hadn’t been able to see my Little during this stay, and our time apart had felt like an eternity. She ran outside as Dad pulled into the driveway and tenderly hugged me. She was always at my side throughout the evening, holding my hand and asking if I was okay with every pain-filled grunt. We made cookies, which completely flopped, but Lovie didn’t care – so long as we were together. We slept in the memory room. (I decided to call our living room the memory room back when she started talking. I didn’t just want to live a distracted life in that room, but a pointed one, making life-long engaged memories with family and friends.) But it wouldn’t have mattered where we slept that night. She was just savoring being together.

The next day was a physical doozy, and I spent most of it in bed. Lovie gathered her toys and favorite blanket and played for hours at the foot of my bed. She occasionally tapped me on the shoulder to show me her latest doll fashion or bring me into her joyous world of make-believe. And then back she went to the foot of my bed – fulfilled I was finally home. Each time I woke up and listened, I was enthralled by her joy in the land she created… The land with mommies and daughters and no sickness. She sat there and played – simply satisfied that we were in the same room together. All she wanted was to be in my presence.

I thought about my Father in heaven and how often I come to Him, too tired to speak, hurting too much to communicate, but desperately needing His presence.

Over the summer, I was hospitalized with what started as a severe asthma flair, then UTI, which led to eventual sepsis. This hospital stay was 27 days in total. At one point in my hospitalization, while critically ill, my dad leaned over my bed and asked me to pray the Lord’s Prayer with him. He began, “Our Father, who art in heaven….” I stared at him panicked and realized I couldn’t remember a word of the oft-quoted Scripture passage. Daddy finished the prayer, reassuring me it was okay that I couldn’t remember. He then tried Psalm 23, and my brain could not recall a word. I don’t know if I can really explain the alarm that took over my mind as I tried to recall even one of the hundreds of verses I had memorized from His Word. But nary a one popped into my mind.

I prayed, but God felt very far away. My number one coping mechanism for stress and pain – Bible meditation – was stripped from me. During the days and weeks that followed, I had to wrestle with where God went or, should I more accurately say, where I felt He went. Faith. Faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen.[1] God was not seen through my eyes during those days in the hospital. He disappeared through the lens of my sickness. Slowly my memory of Scripture returned, but I was left with a crisis of faith as I’d never experienced.

What did His promise “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you”[2] really mean, anyhow? Was that a literal never leave? Was that a personal never leave? A corporate church never leave? And what of the character of God’s promises that He cannot lie?[3] My faith, and the reality of what I experienced, seem to be in great contradiction. I wrestled with the Lord like I imagine Jacob must have in Genesis.[4] I told the Lord I couldn’t just drop it and let it go. I needed to understand. Or so I thought. But what I needed was faith. Faith to believe that my God fulfilled His promises, even when I didn’t feel it. What I needed was faith when there was no evidence. Webster defines faith as complete confidence in something or someone. I felt like I had lost that confidence. Instead of confidence, I had confusion.

Maybe one isn’t supposed to write these words. Perhaps this conflict of faith, this crisis of belief, this heart-wrenching desire to believe despite what I experienced… Maybe these are private moments that I shouldn’t share. Or perhaps what God asks of us is a community of transparency. Maybe these experiences in my life can help others who walk a similar road.[5]

And so, through this blog, I’ll share with you the beginning of my faith journey, the middle that is called daily life now, and well… one day in heaven, the end.

When I was 12 years old, around midnight, I was on my knees reading Scripture and trying to figure out the mysteries of life. With childlike innocence, I told the Lord that I wanted to know Him in whole and not just in part. I told God I wanted to have faith greater than Abraham… no matter the cost. While Abraham looked forward toward the cross and the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, I look back to the cross and the gift of Jesus Christ. But both of us look(ed) through faith. The Lord has often asked me if I still want to have faith greater than that of Abraham’s and to know Him in whole and not just in part. As the years have passed, struggles and trials seem to increase; I confess that my answers are slower in response. There have even been times that I told God I would need to get back to Him with that answer! But each time, with His grace overflowing, I finally responded, “Yes, Lord. Yes.”

But here I was this summer, questioning the very character of God and the promises of God. Then, through much time in His Word, conversations with my parents, and pastoral staff, the Lord gave me a bolus of faith. And just like an enormous amount of IV solution pushed through my veins, a bucket load of faith was poured into my heart. My motto has become, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”[6]

So three days ago, while lying in bed, watching my daughter play in her joyful, make-believe world, I marveled at her simple contentment in my company. I was reminded of my need and high honor of coming to my God with my favorite blanket and those important things to my world and asking Him just to let me be in His presence. I don’t know that I have the words or the faith to spell out what I need from the Lord these days. But He knows. Because just like He cannot lie, He has also promised He knows all,[7] that He never leaves me, counts my tears, and loves me with the love that will never let go.[8] Why? Because I am His child. And while my love for my Lovie feels like the most incredible love imaginable, God’s love for me is far greater and more fathomable. His love doesn’t change based on how I feel. His love doesn’t vary based on what Scripture I can or cannot remember. His love doesn’t change when my prayers feel like they’re bouncing off the ceiling. He doesn’t change.[9] And no action or non-action on my part can ever modify the truth.

So, friend. Get your favorite blanket. Gather those things of worth to you and sit at the Savior’s feet. Rest in the comfort of His presence. Savor the knowledge that regardless of what you feel, He is God. The one and only true God who is worthy of our faith. Faith: the evidence of things hoped for and the conviction of things not seen.

My clock tells me I have one hour before my next pain medication dose. So, I plan to turn on Spotify and mentally sing along to the hymns and songs of faith… further grounding my soul in what I have discovered to be true, no matter what I feel.

If reading these words has resonated with your soul, I’d love to hear from you! Or maybe reading these words has caused you to question what you believe, who God is, or how you fit into that equation. I would love to talk to you, too. Send me a message at sm@litboae.com.

Be gentle with me in a speedy reply. I promise that your email will be read, and I will respond. Sometimes my health throws curveballs that I don’t expect and keeps me bedridden for days. But hold tight… As similar to what you hear on the endless customer service calls, “You are very important to me. Please hold on for the next available brain cell!”

Thank you for joining me on this journey. We were meant for community, and I pray you find that in the LITBOAE family.

In The Grip of His Grace,

Sarah-Marie

[1] Hebrews 11:1 [2] Deuteronomy 31:6 [3] Hebrews 6:18 [4] Genesis 32: 22-32 [5] Romans 1:12, Colossians 4:8 [6] Mark 9:24 [7] 1 John 3:20 [8] Romans 8:38-39 [9] Hebrews 13:8