Even Now.

She was sitting in the waiting room next to me, and I noticed her daughter appeared to be about 14 in years, but much younger in mind. The girl was holding a raggedy stuffed animal, and she was not speaking a word and staring ahead, without much interaction with the world around her. I became so curious, so fixated on their story, that I had to ask. I spoke with her mom for a minute about which doctors they saw (always a way to thread your life to those around you in the waiting room), and then gently asked her what the girl’s diagnosis was. “We have just named it after her. No diagnosis after 14 years of trying”, she replied. 14 years with no diagnosis. There name was called and the mom led her daughter to wherever she needed to go. All I could feel was anger. Angry for her for having to live with such an obvious disease without knowing a name or prognosis; angry for myself at the thought of being thirteen years down this road and knowing nothing. Angry.
I tend to write from a place in which I let you in on the lesson learned after the wrestling occurs. Today, I write from a place in which I am still in the battle. My God will be victorious in it; this I know. This week has found me weary, and I am finding myself in the in-between. I am jealous. I am envious of those who have answers about their children. We had a doctor’s appointment that I had prayed for and looked forward to in the sense that I really felt like this physician was going to be able to lead us toward answers. I left the appointment feeling defeated, insecure, and beat down. After hours of discussing our girls, he told me I needed to stop living for a diagnosis because it would be likely we would not find one. This man, this man who knows nothing about me or what I desperately am fighting to live for, namely Christ, reminding me that God is greater than a diagnosis. In that moment, however, it wasn’t enough. I locked myself in an isolated place where the enemy loves to keep me; a place in which I determine that no one understands therefore no one can encourage. As I tried to reason with this man on why a diagnosis was important, he said words that still sting my heart when I replay them, “Mrs. Cheek, if your girls were to die in ten years; they would die with or without a diagnosis.” At that point, I shut down altogether and just walked through the rest of the appointment numb. A meeting which I counted as a gift was beginning to feel like a knife in my heart. Angry. I thought back to the woman in the waiting room, and while our girls mystery is much different than hers, I placed myself in her shoes. “God,” I whispered on the way home, “I don’t think I could do it. I can’t wait that long. It’s too much”. Doubt.
When I have days where the edges of our story cut too deep, I tend to check out emotionally in order to survive and take care of the girls in the way they deserve. So, I spent a day or so going through the motions and lifting up silent prayers that God would enter back in the story and help me; forgetting that He was holding the pen and writing it all Himself. Music and the outdoors both serve as therapy for me, and remind me how little I am in the midst of a bigger story. As I walked outside yesterday, trying to praise God in the hard, a song came on that resonated with my soul. Will Reagan sings “Even Now”, and the whole song is great but the part that stood out most is this, “Even now, here’s my heart Lord”. Faith. It occurred to me that this was what I was missing altogether. I have prayed for faith for so many years, and here in the in-between, this is where my faith was being grown and stretched the most. Friends, it is crucial that we proclaim faith in God and His plan, maybe even more so in the in-betweens of life where you feel most betrayed or suspicious of God’s purposes and presence. After all, isn’t this what faith really is? When we pray that God would enlarge our faith, we cannot be surprised when He does this through not allowing us to see. Faith without sight. Time and time again, the Word reminds us what this looks like through the stories of those who have gone before us. Hebrews 11 is full of people who did the hard thing without having concrete evidence that God would do that which He promised. Faith. Some of them did not even get to see the end results while they were still on this earth. Faith. 2 Corinthians 5:7 tells us in a hard and fast way: “We walk by faith, not by sight”. As I spent time walking through the hard, I found the Lord calling me to say aloud, over and over again, “You are greater than a diagnosis. You are greater than a diagnosis. You are greater than a diagnosis.” Sometimes, we have to state truths we know to be real, even when we don’t feel them. After all, He is greater than our emotions as well.
I wish I could tell you that today, I am in a place where the peace has settled and I feel joy in our story again. I cannot say that, but I can promise this: He who promises is faithful. His faithfulness does not rely on me (2 Timothy 2:13), and He is writing this story. It will bring Him glory and us good. And, I am committed to praising Him name even in the gray. Even when I don’t necessarily understand or feel like it. He is worthy, this I know. Where are you today? If He is calling you to strengthen your faith, let me encourage you to keep battling. He has already made the victory yours. He is fighting for you; you need only be still (Exodus 14:14). It is hard. It serves a purpose. It is worth it. Even now, here’s my heart, Lord.