I got another one of those texts moms don’t want to receive when they’re on the other side of the country. Hubby texted Julia was having another episode. Not as bad as the one that landed her in the hospital, but scary enough. Enough to send me into a tailspin a few minutes prior to Ann Voskamp’s beautiful keynote at Allume.
The ladies at my table, part of the (in)courage tribe, surrounded me while I wept my stress. They prayed. Looked empathetic. Hurt alongside me.
All through Ann’s talk, I had to keep checking texts. Had my husband taken her to the ER? Was she responding? Had she taken a drink of water? Was she improving? Should I leave the poetic keynote, find an empty room and cry?
According to texts, Julia slowly improved. And I sighed relief in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Sang a worship song. Felt a bit numb and exhausted. Smiled for a picture.
I tried to get an earlier flight out, but none existed.
So I retreated with my roommate Sarah, packed my things and opted for sleep.
Flights blessed me with their punctuality, and I arrived in Texas. Hubby picked me up, a reclining Julia in the back seat, covered in her comforter. “I missed you, Mommy,” she said.
“I missed you too.”
When we had a quiet moment at home, she cried. Questions poured. Will I be this way forever? How will I get my homework done? What is wrong with me? Do you know what’s wrong with me?
It’s excruciating when you don’t have answers, just questions.
She’s fragile and confused and angry and sad.
And I am too. I want to take this all away from her, but I can’t. I beg God to take it away, but He is silent. You, and all your fragrant prayers, have been beseeching too, but heaven seems silent. It’s not a journey I would’ve chosen for her, for our family. It smacks of pain and warfare and disillusionment. It reeks of the Fall, the sin-stained earth. It is the essence of ambiguity. Clarity has flown the coop. Answers flit away.
So we’re left with conundrum, confusion, and answerless days. Headaches and blurry eyes and stumbling limbs. Confounded doctors and oodles of advice. But not one answer.
We wait in the tension.
I think you understand.
I think you’ve had this experience, though it may not have shaped quite our way.
And there comes a point where all you can do is throw your hands heavenward and give it all up. Come to the place where you realize just how deeply fragile the human condition is, dare to fight even so, and rest everything in Sovereign hands.
I’m tired.
God is good.
I want to get to the place where I want Him more than I want answers. So pray for me, for us, for Julia, okay? That we would glorify Jesus through this mystery. That we would learn the simple formula of God’s strength trumping our weakness. That we would be kind and patient with each other as we walk the strange road.
…
Many of you have asked what you can do. Of course you can pray. We are humbled at how many people are praying. But I think it’s hard for Julia to grasp just how many people are praying. If you’d be willing, would you send her a quick note of encouragement? A postcard is fine. Just ask Jesus how He’d want her to be encouraged. I trust Him in you to lead you perfectly.
Send encouragement to:
Julia DeMuth
c/o Mary DeMuth
P.O. Box 1503
Rockwall, TX 75087
