Thy Will Be Done

My favorite sound is that of the garage door opening. It means my husband has returned home from another day of work. It can’t be helped. No matter where I am in the house when I hear that door open my heart skips a beat and has for the past twenty-eight years of our marriage. I’ve never loved anyone like I love Brent, and no one has ever loved me like he has and does. I know what it means to be loved as Christ loves the church. I am blessed with a happy marriage, and I know not everyone is. I know the statistics; fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. I am a product of such a home, but God redeemed marriage and family for me when I met Brent.

He walks in through the mudroom of our home and into the kitchen. He loves a clean house without piles of stuff everywhere, so what is about to happen is inevitable, I’m sitting on the couch in the hearth room attached to the kitchen. He kisses me tenderly and we say our hellos after a day of being apart. As he walks through the kitchen to go up and change he pauses and looks down at the gleaming surface of the granite countertop.

“What’s this?”

“What’s what?” I ask.

“This.” He wonders as he holds up a shard of broken glass.

“Oh, I dropped a glass earlier. So strange how a piece could’ve bounced up high enough to land on the counter. I thought I got it all picked up’”

Ever the cautious one he responds, “You should be more careful. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

He doesn’t realize I’m already hurt. I’m already cut to the core with a pain so deep that sometimes I forget to breathe. It’s rage, and it’s a new emotion for me. Oh, I’ve been angry before, furious even, irritated a lot, and maybe even bitter; all of which have led me to feeling unworthy of God’s love and blessings. Now though it’s unbridled rage and I needed an outlet for it.

I didn’t really lie to him. I did break a glass, just not like he thought. Earlier that day, I could feel the rage building inside of me and threatening to consume me. I looked through all of the kitchen cabinets and my eyes finally landed on two Hard Rock Cafe souvenir glasses from a trip to New York City several years ago. Memories of a happier time with our two oldest girls flashed through my mind as I pulled first one glass down and then the second. I gently wrapped the first glass in layers of paper towels and placed it in a paper bag, and then I threw the bag on the floor with all of the rage that had been building inside of me. Tears streaming down my face I picked up the bag and threw it repeatedly trying to expend the energy that was pent up inside of me.

I am broken. I am hurting and I am furious. My chest heaves as I struggle to draw in breaths, but it feels so wonderful to break something because I am broken. So, I took the other glass and repeated the process all over again.

Now my rage has abated, but I am still left with tears and a shattered heart. Shattered like the glasses in the bag. Maybe I was crazy breaking glasses to free myself from my caged up emotions, but I couldn’t contain them any longer. Either I released this fire burning inside of me, or it would consume me.

I begin to clean up the mess. I must get every piece so my 13 year old son, Alec, doesn’t come home from school and cut his foot while tearing around looking for a snack. Alec… just the thought of my sweet boy breaks my heart all over again. What will he do if this cancer takes his father?

Data Free Zone

I hate cancer. Right now my husband is still feeling good. He goes to work every day and comes home with a positive attitude. He’s told me from the beginning that he’s going to beat this. He’s going to live. He believes God will heal him, and so I believe with him.

I must believe, because to think anything else is too overwhelming, too depressing, and takes me spiraling down a path I cannot allow myself the luxury of taking. I have a son after all who still needs me, and two daughters away in college who are counting on me for a strength that they’re still growing into as young adults.

I am not sure I am enough, but I know that God is. I am painfully learning what it means to truly lean into God and surrender. I thought I’d already learned those lessons through other hardships in my life, but here they are again. Why is it that it takes a tragedy or crisis to get my attention; to fall before the throne of grace and give my life over to God time and again?