Every time Noah starts a new round of treatment, I find myself restless. Last night, the trend continued. Going to sleep comes fairly easy; staying asleep is another story altogether. As I woke a couple of hours before dawn, a new analogy of the journey we find ourselves on formulated in my groggy mind. I liken Noah’s months of treatment to an extended spelunking trip….with an experienced guide..but no light sources provided to the tourists.
In this scenario, I pondered how the guide maneuvered through the pitch black recesses of
Courtesy of howstuffworks
the cavern without incident. “Must be wearing night vision goggles,” I mused as I stared sleepily at the ceiling. (Of course, such eye wear is yet to be invented, something about a need for ambient light…but the guide utilized something, right?) In this analogical comparison, I imagined my wife and I holding on to the guide’s shirttails, the fabric clinched in our tight knuckled fists. The darkness enveloped our being and yet we pressed on…holding on.
Have you ever visited a cave? Have you ever taken a tour with a guide who at some point along the way turns out all the lights? Do you remember the darkness? How it felt? It’s impossible to see a hand waving in front of your face. In this daydreaming state, the cavern swallowed all light; we saw nothing.
In my arrogant pride, doubting his ability to handle the situation, I let go of the guide, stumbling and pitching into the cave walls, bumping my head on a stalactite. At that moment, I recognized my disobedience, and I remembered his instructions. “No matter what happens, hold on.” I imagined my flailing arms grasping for the guide but coming up empty. I imagined calling out, “Save me.” Thankfully, in this imaginative state, the guide paused and rushed to my aid. With his night vision, he examined the scrapes on my arms and the goose egg forming on my receding hairline. “You’ve gotta hang on,” he encouraged. “I know the way. I see the obstacles. I know when to take a right or left. Trust me.” With gratitude, I clung to his shirttails once again.
Raising a child with cancer feels like the above scenario. At no time do we feel confident that we know what’s going to take place the next day, the next hour, or even the next minute. This journey resembles a cavern exploration with no light, led by a tour guide who we hope knows his business. And of course, He does.
At times, I feel much like Peter, walking on the water, eyes fastened on Jesus, and yet the very next moment a strong gust threatens my balance and for a moment the winds and the waves crash against me, drawing my attention. I sink. Sometimes, I feel the drowning sensation that Peter surely felt. But then Jesus reaches out. Calmly, He scoops me to my feet, while I sputter and gasp for air. Once again I’m reminded that the key is keeping my eyes on Jesus, the “Author and Finisher of my faith.”
During this trial, at no time has God been taken by surprise. God not only walks this path with us, but stands cheering at the finish line…the light at the end of the tunnel…the brilliant glow my family looks forward to seeing for ourselves.
“Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.” (Psalm 139:12)
Jesus, the perfect person to take spelunking!
What a powerful reminder and wake up call. I have a tendency to want to be in control of things happening around me. When I can’t control the situation, I feel lost – much like wandering around in the dark cave. I know what my family and I have been through with my mom’s cancer. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like when it’s your child. However, we just have to remember that even though we may not know what to expect or what is happening, that God is always in control of every situation. I just need to remind myself of this on a daily basis in my own life.
Your beautiful, encouraging thoughts always lift me up when it’s so needed. I admire you for your faithfulness to our God thru this journey that you neither asked for nor wanted to take. But God has gone before you, clearing the way to the finish line. Thank you for your sharing of faith that we all need. I love you so and thank God He made you part of our family!!
Wow! You have such a wonderful Faith. Even in the ‘dark’ you help others. It is a wonderful gift God has given you. The next time you are imagining a touristy spelunk, remember this: in places like Carlsbad Caverns, there are lights everywhere, so you can see the splendor around you.
That’s an absolutely spot-on analogy Bryan. When we were going through Jonathan’s “active disease” period, we often felt as if we were stumbling around in the dark. Thankfully, God was a diligent guide and held the lantern just up the cavern showing us the way to follow Him.
Wonderful post my friend, and I’m so glad to hear that Noah’s making good progress. We’ve had him on the prayer list at church, and in our hearts as well.
Have a Blessed Weekend!
Thanks for the story picture. I love you guys! I’m praying for you often. There is indeed NO ONE like our God!
What a wonderful word picture. Don’t you just love how God gives us these insights to help us understand Him and His dealings in our lives! Thanks for sharing. This one especially speaks to me in our own journey through the cave called Cancer.
This was a wonderful illustration about keeping our eyes on Jesus! He is our light, our guide into the great unknown future we all face, but especially during the hard and scary passages we all face at times. Thank you for sharing this with us! We are still praying for Noah and for your family!
“You’ve gotta hang on,” he encouraged. “I know the way. I see the obstacles. I know when to take a right or left. Trust me.”
This is powerful, Bryan, and such truth. You’re right: our Father wants us to hold tight to Him in the darkness. Praying for Noah and your entire family, especially on treatment days.
In Christ,
Jana