God

God. What kind of unknowable thing is he? Is he so isolated he doesn’t know how much I and my family are suffering? Through this whole ordeal we have been praying for divine intervention, and finally, with the facebook post and a liver less than 48 hours later that was the right size, the right blood type, and in Round Rock, it looked like God was coming through. Then we did the surgery and it turns out the radiation damage is too severe in my insides, the scar tissue too pervasive, the liver too tightly joined to other organs around it, and the doctors have to abandon the surgery. But not without all the follow-up difficulties a surgery like this brings.

Here we are 7 weeks later and I am still suffering with unhealed intestines inside. How long until they heal? Our doctors don’t know. They assure us it will heal, but they have only said, “It takes a long time, so be patient.” And so we are patiently dealing with the unpleasantness that this healing requires, including IV food, cleaning and dressing a leaking bowel that is supposed to heal up, and trying to force eat enough extra food and protein that my body can heal itself.

We also are dealing with their opinion that this could be one of the last stages I go through. We are having a lot of difficulty accepting that, and we fight it every day, multiple times per day.

I know a lot about suffering, more than I ever wanted to know. I know mental and emotional suffering. I have cried more tears with my wife than I ever thought I would. I have wrenched my belly from sobs of sorrow just in the past hours or days. My life has some very deep sadness in it right now, sadness that sometimes grabs me and demands to be acknowledged, to be dealt with, to be wrought up and held and evaluated.

I try to stay out of this sad place. I try to live in the light and the yellow joy of each new minute, but sometimes I fail and I have to sob and cry and hold onto my wife and dear friends for support. I thank them now and forever for their support and love. This sorrow and suffering is a burden I fight with several times a day. I know this suffering with an intimacy that not many do, and I do not wish it on anyone.

I also know physical suffering. I have hurt for a long time now. Some days are better than others, and some days just suck. All the time, my body hurts. All the time, my abdomen cramps. All the time, my various tubes pinch and sting. Sometimes, my body will hurt worse with no cause. It just does. Sometimes, I will retch for whatever reason and with new scars and seams on my belly, that hurts a good deal. Sometimes, my diaphragm will spasm, sending pain along my sides and front.

My body hurts. My brain hurts along with it. My family hurts. All these things bring me such sorrow and suffering that I am really just fighting with them most of the time I am awake. It is a miserable way to have to live right now. But as I said, Deb and I are fighting it.

I guess I am writing the above because Debra said people want to know. I am not sure. I don’t want to know about it. I wish it had never been visited on me and my family. I cry, but no one can do anything. It just is.

So back to God.

Does he know what it is like to suffer like this? I think he does. I think he knows physical suffering, and the fear of dying very well through Jesus, his son. Jesus told his friends and disciples many times that he was going to die. We know this from the historical writings in the bible, and so we know that he lived with the same longing appreciation for the beauty of the world and its glorious creation that I have when I walk my block. The breeze. The joy of sitting down. The absolute pleasure of seeing a cardinal flit from one branch high above to another. The comedic dance of a squirrel and my dog, the squirrel hanging inverted hurfing and chirping at Beau, and Beau, front feet on the tree, barking at the squirrel. Jesus saw similar things, knowing their beauty would be lost to him before long.

Jesus also suffered physically. It was not long and drawn out like mine has been. But it was a fine helping of physical pain through whipping with lead points embedded in the whip’s thongs, a crown of big thorn branches shoved on his head, carrying the crude, heavy board through an ancient town with all its steps and running sewage that he would later be nailed to, having his feet and hands nailed to the wood, and ultimately dying on that cross. Yes, he suffered physically.

And he also suffered another way that I haven’t. He lost all his friends, and even his dad when he died. His friends abandoned him one after the next as the time lead up to his arrest. And his father, whom he loved dearly, refused his request to “let this cup pass” from Jesus’s lips; said another way, he refused to let Jesus avoid all the suffering that was necessary to accomplish his goal: to allow us to be with God the father despite our imperfect lives. Then, when Jesus was hanging on the cross, his cry of “Abba, abba, why have you forsaken me?” shows a suffering that is so deeply felt. He has been abandoned by his dad. “Daddy, Daddy, why have you left me here?” Those words pierce my heart when I think of my boys in a similar situation.  

But God the father, does he know suffering? After realizing the above about Jesus crying out to his Daddy, yes, I believe God the father knows suffering; a kind of suffering that I don’t, and that I never wish upon anyone. The suffering of losing your son. Worse yet, losing your son because of a decision you have made. I can’t even imagine it.

When I think of Ben, crying out to me to save him, nothing could stop me from doing everything in my power to help him. But God, when his boy cried out to him, had to turn his back and let him die. That was the strategy that the two of them had built. Jesus would carry the gross actions of all the world to death, lose contact with God the father, and die. After which we would be able to be with both of them.

But there was deep suffering in God’s heart that day. In fact, the bible says that after Jesus died, the sky grew dark, the earth shook and rocks split apart. And that the heavy veil in the Jewish temple that separated God the father from his unclean, imperfect followers was torn in half from top to bottom.

The significance of that tear is quite important because it shows that we are no longer separated from God, but also because fathers who lost a son in that time would tear their robes using their hands, starting at the neck of course, and then all along the front. God was a father who had lost a son. He was grieving, and suffering.

So do I think God had any hand in my liver fiasco? No. Nothing. I don’t think God meddles in humanity very much, if ever. I think what happened, happened. I don’t hold anyone accountable. It’s life.

But do I think God knows what it’s like to suffer, and therefore can empathize with me and will welcome me to his arms when the time comes? Yes, I do. I think he knows my suffering and more.

I hope this note is consoling for you all, my friends. Deb and I are deeply fighting this cancer right now. It is a battle that rages by the hour. It is a long day the moment we wake up. It is hard. We so appreciate your loving dinners. They help us manage the day. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping take care of Debra. She is a diamond, hard and beautiful and highly precious. She is selfless in caring for those around her. Thank you for being here for her now and in the months to come.

I also thank those of you who care for Will and Ben. They are all seeing a part of life that no one wants to have to go through. It’s refining them in ways I will never see, but I know they will be more empathetic, loving individuals in the long run. Thank you all for being there for them when they need to talk, and for thinking of them when kids their age are gathering and helping to get them there so they can be part of the crowd. This helps so much to keep their lives normal. They are both working through this. They are going to be okay. But your support is so valuable and appreciated.

And Cate. To those of you who have opened your homes, your vacations, your closets, your children and your lives to her, it is a great support. Thank you so much for doing so. She is also doing well through this, but I deeply appreciate your on-going love and support to her.

And me… I can’t thank you all enough for the on-going prayers and Wadestrong bracelet snap shots. They are encouraging. Thank you.

I love you all. I will write again before too long.

Wade