I Have Seen the Face of God and It's in my Fridge

It's been a very rough couple of weeks.

My migraines have entered a whole new stratosphere of persistent pain. It has been reminiscent of the pain I experienced after my second son was born. The migraines got worse and worse until it just wouldn't break at all, for anything. And it persisted for 15 months before we found relief.    The problems are hormonal, this much we know and we are currently trying the one thing that worked back then and oddly enough we have not had the same success. I am older, my doctor tells me, and have had four more babies since then, so I must be patient.

Meanwhile, I haven't been able to get out of bed for almost three weeks. Migraines are so hard to explain and I find that most people just can't understand, and that's okay. For me it is like an ice pick lodged in my right eye with pain radiating out from there. Or like a "brain freeze" headache that persists, without relief, for days on end. Light, noise, motion, all these things make it worse and all these things are plentiful in a house full of children.  Laundry piles up, messes collect in corners, and worst of all I see it wear on my family. My children are frazzled and sad and confused, my husband is stoically hanging on but I can tell he is exhausted and worried.

On Friday I had to miss something at school that was very important to both my older boys. My joy-filled-never-discouraged nine year old left the house fighting back tears and the injustice weighed so heavily on me I thought I would die. It's a constant battle between faith and hopelessness, a constant dialogue in my mind with God, wrestling with the angel if you will, trying to accept what God has allowed, and knowing that it in no way changes who He is, how good he is, or how present he is in our lives.

Then, in the most beautiful and overwhelming way he spoke. Not in a bush, or with writing on my wall, not with an angel, or a vision, but with the outpouring of the love of others. I have an amazing community, one full of generous and selfless, holy people who are ready and willing to be the hands and feet of Christ. One email went out and within hours, hundreds of people were praying, storming heaven for my healing, for the strength of my family. But beyond that people began to act. By the next day I had hundreds of dollars worth of food in my house, meals for days to be frozen, and a dozen more people promising to bring food in the coming days. It is so much more than just food. It is a resounding reminder that we are not alone, that God never intends for us to suffer alone, but that he calls us to stand together, to hope for those who cannot hope, to believe for those who are too tired to believe. Through my suffering he has provided an opportunity to reveal more about himself, to show us his amazing goodness.

My most overwhelming response to this kind of charitable goodness, after gratitude, is unworthiness. I cannot fathom what would compel people to be so kind, so generous and thoughtful and giving, for I am so undeserving. And then like a bolt of lighting, it strikes my consciousness. this is how God loves us. We do not deserve one ounce of his love and yet it is always there. This is what he requires of us, to love the way he loves, and why in Matthew 25:40 he reminds us that everything we do "for the least of these" we do for him, to him. I am overwhelmed with the love I feel from others, some I know and love dearly, some I have only met once or twice, and yet they allow themselves to be Jesus to me, to my family, to my precious children.

 And although I wish I could get up and carry on, a part of  me realizes that what my children are learning from this is far more valuable than anything my presence can give them. They are learning  how it feels to receive a gift they do not deserve, just as we must allow ourselves to accept the love of God, a love we will never fully comprehend and never be worthy of. They have seen what selfless giving looks like, what it means to take care of one another, they are seeing the Body of Christ in action and whether they can express it or not it has changed them.   They are learning that God always provides for us, that he gives us strength and hope when we are in need of it, and that he promises to bring good out of every suffering.  Because this pain not only effects me, but also my family, we are learning to offer it up together, to pray for others who might benefit from what we are giving up and in turn seeing what people are willing to give up for us.

We have so much to be thankful for. I know that this is but a season, and I pray that it is not a long one. I am grateful that this is all I have to suffer as so many suffer so much worse. I am not dying, my children aren't having to say goodbye to me, they just have to be without me a bit more for right now. I am so glad that they can see that we are not alone, and I hope if they learn nothing else for now that they are at least a little in awe of people's generosity and that in time they will begin to see that this is how Jesus loves them, with such inexhaustible generosity and love, a love they don't deserve but a love that will always be available to them, a love that is worth suffering for, a love that suffered all things first.  I feel we have been given a little taste of heaven, a reminder that one day we will all be together, singing "Holy, Holy, Holy" in unison with the angels, and all of this will be but a breath.

God bless all those who are the hands and feet of Jesus.