Thank God that He's not fair!

"Its no big deal...I can handle it. No one else needs to know."

That's what I kept telling myself.

Of all the lies we tell, aren't the ones we tell ourselves, the ones born out of pure emotion, aren't those the most convincing?

I was sitting in my counselor's office two days before Valentine's Day, and we were discussing the everyday things surrounding the direction of my life. I could tell by the questions she was asking that this time, she was digging a little deeper than usual. During our last few meetings, conversations had focused on most of the superficial struggles I was having, or on the struggles of my kids and how I'm sometimes at such an incredible loss to know how to help them. One particular question - I can't even remember what it was at this point - that question finally triggered the response she was after.

"I watched her die."

While most people who know me understand that I was there and saw it happen, since the night that my wife died I've never been able to be completely honest about how it happened. That single response smashed the dam that had been holding all of this toxic emotion inside of me for so long, and it all came out in a flood. Over the next few minutes, I sobbed and heaved and retched and recounted in minute-by-minute detail the suffering that I witnessed.

I had to perform CPR to try to revive her, and its incredible what an effect that's had on me. That act created such a feeling of responsibility for her life, and regardless of what people tell me or how many words I read in the autopsy report telling me there was nothing I could have done, that feeling is hard to shake loose.

Right now most of the people reading this blog are friends of mine. Some I've known for many years and others, like the folks in my widow and widower group, I've only known for a short time. Since most of my friends are creative people, and since creative people tend to be incredibly visual I'm purposely leaving out most of the detail here out of respect for their feelings. I need to paint a few broad strokes though so that you can understand where I'm going with this. She suffocated. A blood clot cut off the ability for her lungs to transfer oxygen to her bloodstream, and over the next few minutes she fought to stay alive.

I remember sitting in the waiting room of the hospital after the ambulance had transported her body there. I was surrounded by an incredible group of men, and for whatever reason, the words to Chris Tomlin's How Great Is Our God just kept singing out in my head. I was so torn because I believed it in my heart but just didn't understand why God had taken her.

It's not fair.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. - James 1:2-4

You know how when we're falling in love with someone, after awhile little physical imperfections start to become incredibly endearing to us? Maybe it's a crooked tooth or a freckle in a certain spot, but after awhile those things become the beautiful, unique fingerprints of God on the person we love.

My wife was incredibly sick with heart disease for several years, and was fortunate enough to have her life extended by a heart transplant. During those years she went through countless hospitalizations and several surgeries. Her weight more than doubled because she was retaining so much fluid. Every time I'd bring her home from the hospital she'd have another scar either from a procedure, an errant needle stick, or surgery, and her skin was stretched and misshapen from the pressure that all of the fluid created.

It's not fair.

When we'd return home from the hospital I'd look at those scars and stretch marks and find myself falling more and more deeply in love with her, because every scar, every mark, had a story behind it and I had had been a witness to most of them. Sharing in her suffering brought us closer together in five short years than most people experience in decades of marriage.

Since the night that she died I've often felt that it was all so unfair, and that's been a common theme in many of the conversations I've had with others about the whole experience. As I sat there in my counselor's office detailing all of my emotions that day, those words came out once again.

"It's not fair."

Then from out of nowhere a question hit me. Did Jesus think life was fair?

Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. - James 1:12

This experience has changed the way I look at my Lord forever. Imagine what it must have been like for Mary to watch her own Son beaten and crucified. Did her love for her Son grow because she knew the story behind each of His scars? What about the disciples? Did each of them sacrifice their own lives because sharing in the suffering of Jesus brought them so close to Him? Both Mary and the disciples were witnesses to the scars of Jesus, and saw God glorified through His death and resurrection.

Thank God that He's not fair!

I was standing in church yesterday, and the worship leader started singing How Great Is Our God. I stood there with tears flowing down my face, singing at the top of my lungs one moment, and completely unable to speak the next. I'm still messed up and healing and trying to overcome the emotional immaturity that spurs from this kind of trauma (that's a future blog post in itself), but I asked myself; how is it that God can take the worst experience of my life, and turn it into the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me next to salvation itself? How can I respond to that other than to simply fall down in front of Him in absolute awe of that kind of love?

Thank God that He's not fair!

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