As we were leaving for Cleveland for my dad’s surgery, I was more than a little anxious. I’m sure you are all shocked.
I put on Pandora, hoping for a distraction to ease my worry, and one of the first songs to come on was They Mercy My God, a hymn written in the late 1700s by John Stocker. It’s been a favorite of mine for nearly ten years now, and Sandra McCracken’s version is haunting and lovely – and that’s what that came through my speakers as we were entering the Interstate for the five-hour ride.
I started sniffling with a couple stifled tears going down my face, and that quickly progressed to a facial-distorting, snotty, full-out ugly cry. Evan didn’t say anything except to ask if I was ok. This was only about the fifth breakdown I’d had in the past few weeks over the impending surgery (or – in my mind – impending doom!), so I’m sure he just thought I was scared and worried and upset, but the truth was, I was none of those things.
I was utterly thankful.
It’s no secret that well before starting this house church I was struggling to take what I know about God and translate that to knowing God, and fortunately – on occasion – I am reminded that all is not lost. This was one of those occasions. From the first banjo pluck until the last Hallelujah, I felt nothing but fully immersed in the love of the Father, and could utter nothing but “Thank You” in return. There wasn’t peace in the sense that I thought everything would be ok (my anxiety is too far gone to allow any such rational thought), no comfort of any material sort, but for just those few minutes I knew God was there, right along with me, no matter the outcome. And I was able to whisper thanks, no matter the outcome.
You all know my dad is home and slowly recovering, and while he’s not entirely out of the woods yet, the surgery went better than expected. On top of that, he has a renewed sense of faith, and just last week my brother made the decision to restart his walk with God after years of a non-existant faith.
I certainly don’t feel God near me each minute, or each day, even. But occasionally he breaks through this crowded heart of mine and is able to remind me that he loves me in spite of myself. He loves us all in spite of ourselves, and my prayer for this upcoming year is that we know this truth. At least on occasion, but that we know it to our core.
This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins (1 John 4:9-10).
