I know God can heal and perform miracles. The Spirit loves to heal. God says of Himself in Exodus 15:26, “I am the Lord, your Healer”.
He healed my tailbone after I fell down the stairs. He started my (dead) rental car so I could make it to the airport on time. This, and more. How often has He performed these countless, tiny miracles? How many times has He met me, face to face? How many times has He revealed His Goodness? I know He is a Healing God. Belief is not the issue.
It’s not that I don’t believe God will heal our boy. It’s that I’m not convinced that a miraculous healing on this side of the Veil is what He has in mind. He will heal Francis. This is for sure. The thing that causes me pain is that I might have to wait until Heaven to see it with my own eyes. I ache.
When I am in the depth of my grief, I can feel Jesus there with me. His eyes questioning me, “Are my promises enough for you? Is the healing work I did on the Cross enough for you? Am I, Myself, enough?”
The whole point of His Incarnation, Passion, Death, and Resurrection is so that a human person, in relationship with Jesus, will be fully healed and restored to God in Heaven. Death does not destroy us. This is the center of my entire system of belief.
But is it enough? If this is the healing that the Lord has to offer us, is that enough? To have our Lord forgo the miraculous earthly healing for my son, to instead draw us all deeper in the mystery of His Passion? Francis will be healed. And I will have to prepare to let him go. I ache.
DEAR LORD how heavy this cross is! How surprisingly tender and piercingly difficult is this mystery! I ache.
In the past six weeks since Frankie’s diagnosis, I have found that at the bottom of my soul, at the very end of my strength, rationality, wit, and courage…I can say yes to whatever comes next, thanks to the grit produced by the abundance of God’s life within me. The fruit of the Spirit born out of this bitter seed is my unexpected Fiat in the dark places. Not the fluffy, passive acceptance that is the hallmark of the false feminine piety forced on my gender, but the steel resolve of a person who has trained to run their race; fortitude in the face of deep suffering. Death does not destroy. It won’t destroy Francis Benedict and it won’t destroy me. I did not expect to find that within my own heart. It turns out that my whole life has not been in vain until now, but a preparation to carry this cross all the way to my own calvary. Reader, do not expect it to be beautiful. But I think I’ll be able to get there.
Yes, Lord, your promises are enough for me. But, Jesus, my whole soul aches with the pain.
This, and More 