Eternally Friday

Warning: Sarcasm and brutal transparency on

potentially nuclear levels.  Readers, beware!

Life is not fair. I’m not even sure if it’s just. I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s not that I’m suicidal or even want to end my life. I don’t want to fight for the right to live. That may not make sense to you. If it doesn’t, that’s okay. But sadly, for some of you, it will resonate all too well.

I don’t want to swallow the pill. I don’t want to start the next IV. I don’t want to wear the mask and do a breathing treatment. No, I’m not OK today. I’m in the ICU recovering from two procedures. Thanks for asking anyway. And if another person queries what my pain scale number is, I may scream at them - 100 or higher!! Thank you for trying to help me, but would you just go away? No, an ice pack will not fix my throbbing head that was just cut open by a surgeon. No, I don’t want a Tylenol. I know I’m constipated. Do I care right now? That would be another no. Yes, I see my lunch was just delivered. I don’t want to eat it. I’m not even sure what it’s supposed to be! Is that chicken? Fish? Roadkill? Please, bring me some cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory! Yes, I know it will make my sugar skyrocket. Again, I don’t want to care. Just give me more insulin and let me eat. And while we’re talking, this telemetry is driving me crazy. If it beeps just one more time, I will find a bat for the monitor. I’m taking off my O2 probe. How do you think I’m feeling today? Do I want to stand up and do physical therapy? That would be a resounding no. Do I even want your offered pain meds? No! I want to have control. I don’t want to need pain control at all! If I have to tell my history to one more resident, nurse, or doctor - I may just lose it completely. (And based on the words spewing from my mind, I already have!) Yes, I know I’m very young to have all of these health issues. Yes, I know it’s extremely rare. Lucky me! Yes, it is hard. Yes, I’m a trooper! Yes, I’ll rally through. Yes, it’s good that there’s another day to live. Yes, sunshine means another day to get better. Do I miss my daughter? No, not at all. It’s like a fun vacation for both of us to be separated. And yes, being in the hospital is like a little spa vacation. Every one of your humanities is stripped one by one. And I’ll pay $1000 a night for this any day! What a steal of a deal! What is today’s month and year? I’m really not sure - it all blurs together. Do I know where I am? Yes, stuck in prison. Is there anything you can get for me today? Yes, a healthy body, my daughter, a helicopter, $1 million, and a private island in the Bahamas. That’s all I’m really asking for. Is it really too much?

(Oh, and while I’m randomly screaming at the world, I just thought I’d let you know that whoever hung the TV in my room did not have a level… it’s permanently crooked. My RN kindly tried to adjust it for me, but it won’t budge. So there’s that minor annoyance, too!)

Two days ago, I was in my hospital bed with out-of-control symptoms. My dad stood at my side, holding my hand as I moaned like David of old. “God, where are you? Why have You forsaken me? I know I’m a sinner, but You forgave me. Why are You taking out Your wrath on me? And while we’re talking, what did my daughter do to deserve such a sick mother? I can’t take the pain anymore. I’m just too weak to fight this. Bring me home. I won’t take my own life, but You could stop my heart." I rocked and moaned in bed repeating, "I just want to go home! I want to go home. It’s time to go home. I just want to go home. It’s time to go home." While my nurses thought I meant my physical home, I meant heaven. I continued my railings before God, "My enemies encompass me. They are eating all of my flesh. My bones are literally dying within me. Infection threatens to take my life. ‘God,’ I whispered, ‘where are you? Do you even care? Do you see your daughter?" These queries were thrust rapid-fire and mixed between mournful pleases for my earthly father to fix it. “Please, Daddy, please, Daddy, please, Daddy. Get someone to help me! Please help them help me. Make them help me. I need help.“  The torture in my father‘s eyes was clear as he watched his daughter suffer, unable to do anything about it. We waited through the endless rounds of consultations as they tried to find a medication that would control the situation. I threw the full force of my anger and disappointment at the throne of heaven. I held nothing back. Had it not been for my daughter, dying at that moment seemed like the perfect solution. Yet, my tacky heart continued to beat. Drat, that thing!  For several hours, I writhed in bed. Moaning, whispering, pleading, and spewing whispered words of anger. This was followed by intense cries for help. And ended with, "Just do something!"

But He didn’t. Jesus didn’t make it all better. God didn’t reach down from heaven in a show of His miraculous power. He didn’t bring me a sense of calm or peace. He let me suffer. He let me hurt. He also let me question. He let me rail. He let me tell Him I felt like He was letting me down. He let me scream, “With a friend like you, God, who needs enemies?“

Nate Brooks, author and seminary professor says, "God’s goodness does not blunt pain. Deep suffering often pushes us toward mystery. Your struggle with God doesn’t make you less faithful. We don’t have to understand God. In fact, it’s the height of arrogance to think that we could!" Learn more about Dr. Brooks by visiting Nate Brooks.

In those moments, my God wasn’t the God of Easter. He was the God of Good Friday. And I don’t want the God of Good Friday. I want the God of the resurrection, of new life, of lilies, of daisies, of new beginnings. I don’t want the God of death, disappointment, suffering, or Gethsemane.

I remember singing an Easter Cantata years ago, and one of the anthems was entitled “But then came Sunday!“ It was a victorious chorus, filling the air with reminders that Jesus Christ rose from the dead and conquered His enemy! But you see… today, Sunday, hasn’t happened yet. And the three days from Good Friday to Easter feel like an eternity.

I’m not gonna tie this blog up in a pretty bow. Because I honestly don’t have a pretty bow to give it. I’m in the middle of the thick of it. There’s no peaceful resolution. There’s no mighty spiritual stake in the ground. There’s unrest. There’s anger. There’s confusion. There’s disappointment. But there’s also the thinnest thread still holding on for Easter, holding on for Sunday, and holding on for the new. The thinnest of thread holding onto Hope.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

Here, because of Him,