Sorrow and Hope

In the last two months, I have experienced all manner of emotions. We felt thankfulness for all of the love and care we have received from so many of you. One of my favorite parts of each day is checking the mail. Every card, call and message is so appreciated. I have been encouraged that many of you are praying for us.  I could never thank you enough. Gratitude abounds.

The most predominate emotion I’ve felt in the last two months is sorrow. I am sad. A deep kind of sad that goes right to my bones. Perhaps sometimes as Christians, we attempt to discount the validity of this emotion. Because we know the end of the story, we try to convince ourselves that sadness has no place in our lives. That just isn’t true. 

Tim Keller writes in his excellent book Walking with God through Pain and Suffering that Christians actually have greater room for sorrow because we know that brokenness was not a part of God’s original design and intention. 

Jesus gives us a real example of sorrow and grief in John 11. When he saw the pain of Mary, Martha and their friends at the death of Lazarus, he didn’t respond with platitudes. He was deeply moved in his spirit, distressed, and he wept. I am so grateful that I don’t serve some distant, unapproachable god. I follow Jesus-- God who weeps with his people.

I haven’t been angry. I have however prayed some very real prayers. I am so thankful for the Psalms, which are filled with laments. They are prayers of people in really distressing situations, calling out to the only one who can help. With whom would I be angry? The only one who has any control, the only one with whom I might be angry is God. But since the moment of her diagnosis, I’ve known that God is the only hope that I have. The words of Peter in John 6:68 have been frequent on my lips, “Lord, to whom else shall I go? You have the words of eternal life.” I cannot be angry at the God who has been so very present with us and the God who gives us real HOPE that Zoe will be healed. 

I know that God will heal Zoe. I would love for it to be in the next few weeks. That is certainly not a guarantee. However, it IS a guarantee that when Jesus returns, Zoe will be raised with a perfect, glorified body. She won’t just be floating around as a disembodied spirit on a cloud somewhere. She will have a real glorified body, just like Jesus received as he was raised from dead on Easter morning. 

What is sown perishable...her broken little body...will be raised imperishable...a glorified eternal body. 

It is my prayer that we will see glimpses of that glorification now. I hope that we get to see some healing in her little body in the present-- long bones, a normal ribcage, lung development, a healthy heart and brain.

Two weeks ago, we got to see Zoe on ultrasound for the first time since her diagnosis. Cody and I had so hoped to see some changes in her body, some miraculous differences. However, that is not what we saw. We saw a very sick little girl. It was such a mix of deep emotions as we watched her wiggle on the screen. She just has the sweetest little face. We could see her sticking out her tongue, blinking her eyes and moving her hands. What joy! 

Simultaneously, I felt hot tears running down my cheeks as I realized that her bones didn’t grow much at all over those six weeks. The reality of all it just sunk in a bit deeper into my soul. 

The days pass quickly and slowly at the same time. I meet each day with excitement that she is still with us, and with fear knowing that every new day is closer to the time we will say goodbye.

I just miss her so much already. I miss what we won’t have together. The other night we were walking and heard neighbor children playing in their backyard. The sweet sounds were like arrows in my heart, knowing that I won’t hear Zoe squeal as we blow bubbles or color with sidewalk chalk. No picking out adorable pink hair-bows or monogrammed clothes. No preschool choirs or high school graduation. I miss the dreams of what might have been.

It is surreal that Cody and I have talked about the type of wood we prefer for her casket instead of her crib. When the weight of that thought is heavy upon me, I remember that Jesus is not unfamiliar with wood. He hung upon the cross to defeat the power of death. I look to that old rugged cross and see Jesus’ victory for us in his suffering. All of my varying emotions find peace as I remember that in Christ Jesus, God displays his love for me. 

Zoe Karis will rise from that wooden casket with a glorified body to spend eternity with Jesus. This is the hope of the gospel. This is my hope. This is the reality that pierces the darkness in my soul with undeniable light and hope in the midst of sorrow.