Happy Endings

Those first dark years after Mason died, I had a difficult time with other people’s crises. 

Not the stress and anxiety that comes from sickness and trauma and hospital stays. Car accidents and illnesses. It wasn’t that I couldn’t handle hearing about pain or tragedy.

It was the constant updates. The requests for prayer. The seriousness of it all in each correspondence. I struggled with it because it felt as though I knew, every single time, everything was always going to end up ok. People would survive. Recover. Heal. Sometimes painfully and slowly, but ultimately, everything always seemed to work out ok.

And of course I wanted it to be ok. I wanted healing and restoration for the people I love. It’s just that it felt as though everyone else’s dramatic prayer requests were always answered. All those near death experiences and close calls end up fine. This is a good thing, of course. A great thing. 

I want happy endings for others. I do. 

It’s just that I wanted one for my family, too.

It wasn’t jealousy or bitterness. I didn’t have my moments of lamenting the fairness of God and the why’s of him taking Mason. God, in his graciousness, prepared my heart for all that in the years leading up to his death. 

I was just sad. Really, really sad. 

It was a deep, overwhelming sadness that my little boy was gone. And the pain suffocating my heart every single day was too much to bear. I missed my son something fierce and while everyone else was celebrating their happy ending, I was still setting one less plate for dinner.

Of all the dramatic stories that end up on prayer chains around the world, Mason’s should have easily been one of those with the happy endings. The kind where everyone says, “Oh, praise God!” I can imagine the updates… “He took a turn for the better!” and “He was moved out of ICU!” and “His infection is clear and he’s going home!” All kinds of rejoicing. 

I mean, no one dies from appendicitis anymore, right? Especially not in a country with great medical care. Did you know the risk of dying from appendicitis is less than 1/10 of 1%? How did we end up with odds like this? Mason’s appendix hadn’t ruptured, he got medical attention immediately. I checked all the boxes.

And I had the awful ending. The one that doesn’t get the “Oh, praise God!” 

I know that God does answer prayer. And he does heal. And he’s worth praising for this.

But sometimes God doesn’t heal. And he doesn’t answer prayer the way we hope. 

And he’s still worth praising for this too.

In reality, not too many of us on the prayer chain end up standing over the grave. Watching our happy ending come to a silent, deadly halt. 

But having stood there, having lived there for the last several years, I can say with assurance that there is something quite sacred in that place, the place where elusive happy endings float away with those unfilled dreams and blissfully unaware false securities. 

Quite possibly this is the place where faith grows deeper. This is where the resolve of the believer is fortified. In the trenches. At the grave. Where convictions of things not seen are clarified. Where the assurance of things hoped for is solidified in the weary and hurting heart.

I tend to think that there are many hurting souls still walking this earth whose faith was strengthened in the furnace of pain. Who still long for healing, still weep at their tragedies, yet look forward with hope.

A valuable lesson is learned standing over a fresh grave: God is worthy to be praised. 

Not because he worked some great miracle in healing, but because he is working a great miracle in the hurting. Because his thoughts are not our thoughts and his ways are not our ways.

Good thing too. I’d choose a life of comfort and ease and safety for my family. Which most definitely does not pave the path to great faith, depth of character, and strong convictions. 

In the words of Spurgeon, “Sometimes God works a greater wonder when He sustains people in trouble than by delivering them. To let the bush burn with fire and not be consumed is a greater thing than quenching the flame and saving the bush.”

I often think of the story of Lazarus when I think of my experience with Mason. Just like his sister told Jesus, “If only you were here you could have healed him.” 

If only. 

I sometimes have my “If only” moments with God. If only, God… If only. How different my life would be if my “if only” didn’t exist. 

But then, would my faith have become what it is today? 

The healing of Lazarus would have been a good story, Jesus revealing the power he had expressed time and time again, healing the sick and hurting. 

But the raising of Lazarus from the dead after four days? That’s a whole other story. That’s a power beyond what these grieving people had experienced. Power over death? That is something to hope in.

Maybe it’s not because of our little faith that we don’t get our miracle. Maybe it’s not because we are less loved by God. Or that we are being overlooked or forgotten. Maybe it’s the opposite. 

Maybe instead, God has given us the capacity for great faith. Maybe God has planted in us a rare treasure of gold. Pure gold. Exquisite gold of great value. Gold with a faith that can withstand the furnace and come out purer and more valuable for the kingdom.

Maybe some of his more painful miracles are saved for those he has a special plan for. Ones who he peers into their soul and says, “I see gold here.” 

“Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. SO, when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.” John 11:5,6

Jesus purposely stayed.

Because he loved them. 

Because he saw gold in them.

Jesus intentionally didn’t heal Lazarus. He intentionally allowed for a scenario where tragedy would strike and weeping would happen and pain and suffering would overwhelm broken hearts. 

Why? Well, we don’t need to know why. All we need to know is that he showed up and through tear-filled eyes, heartbroken people watched one of his greatest miracles ever. The power over death. 

And this is the power I hope in. I live in those four days, where death has sunk its claws into my heart. There is a tension of continuing to live on this earth, this side of the grave. 

But these four days, although they stretch on endlessly now, are so brief. I know with certainty the happy ending is coming. Mason is already on the other side. Where death has no sting and no victory. 

And while I wait for that victory myself, I am reminded that God is worth praising. And that he can use the pain of the grave to reflect his power. That the suffering of the furnace brings about refinement that won’t come with all the happy endings earth offers us. 

This time of suffering, this heartache and pain, it will soon be swallowed up by a weight of glory beyond comparison. It might not feel so light and momentary on this earth, but it is transient. It is fleeting. 

And although it is unseen to us now, the eternal victory is sure and certain. Its glory will completely eclipse that meager shadow that death attempts to cast. 

If like me, your miracle didn’t come, the book closed on your happy ending, take heart. The refining of the furnace is stoked by our praising through our pain. Have courage, the happy ending is still coming. 

We will still experience the best miracle of all. Death is defeated. And we will all someday stand and boldly say with hope…

“Oh, Praise God!”

“Gold is put into the furnace because it is gold. It is useless to try to refine rubbish there. A first-rate diamond will undergo more cutting than an inferior one. The great Owner of heaven’s jewels uses a sharper cutting machine on the most valuable stones. Our king desires that we have many facets to reflect the glory of His name.”

-Charles h. spurgeon