All joy

“The safest part of a Christian’s life is in a trial.” -Spurgeon

Anthony’s cancer is back. In his liver. We’ve never really been given the all clear on this cancer journey. We’ve had breaks in the treatment and clear PET scans, but never clear bloodwork. And always the waiting. Oh, the waiting… 

I’ve found the best thing to fill the waiting with is prayer. 

Not that I actually do this well. I’m too busy borrowing tomorrow’s trouble. But I do know it’s the best filler. Better than endlessly researching cancer recurrences and blood test results. Better than getting frustrated at the unknown and impatient at the years of this ridiculous cancer reality. This all leads to unnecessary fear and irritability. And honestly, just loads more exhaustion.

But when I do decide to take my thoughts captive and focus on truth, there is much peace that fills my soul. (you’d think I’d learn)

I’ve been reading James chapter one over and over. “Count it all joy when you meet trials of various kinds.” All joy? Really…?

It’s hard to keep reading after that verse. Count it all joy? How can cancer be joyful? How can watching your child take his last breath be joyful? Reading this feels almost insulting. Have you ever buried a child, James? 

But really, I know the problem here is the constant misuse of the word joy. We often think of it on the surface level, closer to happiness. We make joy an emotion when really it’s so much deeper than that. The original Greek word is connected to the word for grace or favor. It really has nothing to do with emotional happiness and everything to do with God’s grace and goodness. Joy is anchored in faith, not in circumstances.

And with that in mind, it’s so much easier to keep reading. “… for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”

I’d prefer to not have my faith tested. I feel like we’ve been through that one already. It’s really not that comfortable.

But comfort doesn’t do much in me to bring about the full effect of God’s righteousness. 

It does do a great deal to bring about my selfishness though. 

So even though the trials are not enjoyable, it’s pretty appealing, this idea of being perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. Because I sure feel like I’m lacking a lot these days. I’m weary. 

I want a faith that can withstand the fire. That will come out like gold. And that’s my big prayer for my kids as well, that this unfair cancer journey they are forced to walk produces a steadfastness in them that has its full effect. That their faith is fortified in the hard and the dark and impossible.

You know, there are many guarantees in the Bible. A lot of promises of God. I’ve been making my own list as the Lord shows me a new one. 

I’ve been also noticing a lot of things that aren’t guaranteed. Our comfort in this world. Healing. The answers to some prayers. These things are blessings we often get to experience. But they aren’t promises. 

It’s an unpopular opinion, I’ve discovered. Because I’ve seen that often our fear dictates how we think everything should work out. And when things get hard we seek the solution, not the result of the process. We want everything wrapped up in a pretty bow so we can say “Thank you, Jesus” and return to a comfort we think we can control. When really the best thing we can do is realize that he’s sovereign and perfect and redemption is often accomplished better through our suffering than through our relief and ease.

So here we are, with the shadow of cancer looming ever darker and I can say it’s most definitely not fun. But I know deep in my soul there is truly a joy found only in the hardest of storms. Because that’s where the Lord is. 

I have encountered the sweet presence of the Lord in the most bitter place. I have felt his protection in the searing fire. His provision in desperation. His light when things are most bleak. His hope when life is agonizing. There is simply no substitute for the Lord’s kindness, his unfailing love. I’ve lived it in the contrast of one of the harshest afflictions this world can assault me with.

God must really love me to keep walking me through these impossible valleys. I have tried to take the why me thoughts and change them to, wow, maybe I’m one of this favorites. 

The steadfastness learned by trudging through the dark valley cannot be learned elsewhere. The strength developed by taking that next painful step in the relentless storm simply cannot be achieved on sunny days.

James offers some great comfort in response to these unwanted trials. “If any of you lack wisdom let him ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault.”

Generous wisdom. That’s what I’ve been asking for lately. And I don’t have to wonder if it will come. It’s a promise. 

Our guarantee in trial is wisdom. It’s not ease. Or comfort. Or healing.

Wisdom. There is no guarantee of easy days. Of just pray and that trial will be removed. Sometimes, in God’s kindness, he does remove the trial. But more often, since he really loves us, he wants to help us carry it and walk us through that valley of perseverance. Because he would much rather see us come out with faith that can walk through fire than remain where things are easy and comfortable. Comfort makes us weak. Trials make us warriors. 

I want to pray the right prayers. Yes, I can still ask for blessing. And I will. But what I really want is the promise.

Wisdom. Generous amounts.

I want steadfastness. That lacks nothing. 

So here, in our trial, in our unknown, with so many loved ones wondering what can they do and how can they pray, it’s this. Pray that perseverance will create a deep faith in us that can withstand the darkest nights. We’ll take all the prayers for God’s blessings (please and thank you). But ultimately, what I really desire for my family is that we can be mature and complete. Lacking in nothing. That when life feels distressing and agonizing and crushing, we breathe in the overwhelming grace given to us. 

And count it all joy.