Really?

People keep asking me if I’m really okay. I’m pretty sure what they’re implying is that although they know I’m trying to trust God with all of this. That still it must be hard. And they would be right. It is still hard.

At the same time, I sometimes wonder if this leukemia diagnosis may not be as hard for me as it might be for someone else. At first, I thought this because I have a daughter with Down Syndrome. I’ve heard scary medical stuff before.  I knew from day one that Libby’s little body would be more vulnerable.  I am certainly no stranger to doctors’ offices and appointments.  Doctors make up a solid ten percent of the contacts in my phone. I schedule multiple therapy appointments every week.

I’m sure all of the above factors in. However, I think it has more to do with the fact that I’ve been broken before. I have been blindsided by the unexpected. I have had my dreams seemingly dashed. I have felt devastation.  I have felt anger. I have felt confusion. I have felt helplessness.  It’s not totally new to me. More importantly, I know what can come from brokenness.

God and I have been down this road before. And it was hard. And I let Him hear about it. A lot. And for a time I didn’t even pray. I just complained. A lot. But somehow, in my brokenness, I felt God’s presence like I never had before. In my pain, this world faded and His world came into focus. And I hungered for Him. A hunger that would dull as things became “better”. But enough of it stayed. And I wanted more. Much more. Tentatively, I found myself praying a prayer I was admittedly terrified to pray.

God, I want to know you. Desire you, above all else.

So here I am again. Broken. Stripped bare. Hurting. And He’s not answering my questions. And He’s not guaranteeing me a happy ending.   Not in this life, anyway. But in my brokenness, He is near. And He draws me near. And the hunger for Him is palpable. It’s impossible to describe.  But I feel blessed.

Am I enjoying it? Not really. Do I believe He’s worth it? I do. Really.