Fun in the Furnace

Recently an article of mine was published, titled “Finding God in the Nightmare.” The article was originally written last spring, and in it I wrote about God changing my perspective, allowing me to view the nightmarish events in my life as, in fact, part of His dream for my life.

It took me a long time to submit this article for publication, and then even after submitting it, it took awhile for it to be published. During this time, some circumstances have changed in our family. In the fall, we began an unexpected battle with Nora’s preschool over whether she could go to school in her diabetic condition. Her teachers were understandably concerned about being responsible for a child with a life-threatening condition, and it took lots of training and talking down their fear before they would allow her to come to school without my being present. Just as this situation was resolved, some routine blood tests came back revealing that Nora had tested positive for Celiac Disease (another auto-immune disease closely related to her Type 1 Diabetes). An endoscopy has since confirmed that she has Celiac. This diagnosis (requiring Nora to eat completely gluten-free) involves another in-depth look at our family’s diet, and it involves even more microscopic accounting for every bite that goes in Nora’s mouth. It involves another big learning curve and adjustment for the whole family, and we are all adjusting in different ways. Our boys have been fighting for their share of parental attention in ways that are understandable but not great. In the wake of all of these events, we have felt overwhelmed with the amount of time and training our puppy Lucy requires. We initially put out feelers for places to re-home her, but have gone back and forth about this decision. We are still praying about what is best. 

Here’s the thing: in the midst of all of this change (none of which sounds real joyful), the truth of my last article stands firm. Now, more than ever, the description of my life sounds like a nightmare, and sometimes it feels like one. But now, even more than last spring, God is showing me how to live out joy daily. On top of this, he is teaching me what my faith gets to look like during this season, and it’s kind of blowing my mind. 

I concluded my “Nightmare” article with a sense of overall contentment with where God had us, diabetes and all. In light of recent events, I have re-fought this battle and have come to the same (but different) place of contentment. Let me explain. 

When Nora was originally diagnosed with Diabetes and now again with this Celiac diagnosis, there has been a raging battle inside me of faith vs. contentment. I have had faith-filled friends encourage me not to get comfortable with Nora’s diagnoses, encouraging me to fight until I see the healing. The fiery intercessor inside of me has agreed with them. Yet, I have suffered guilt over  the deep need in me to make peace with what life looks like right now. There have been days (as described in my last article) when I have felt joy and contentment in the midst of these diagnoses, and I have felt confusion over whether this contentment means I have given up on the healing. If I’m not in constant agony over Nora’s diagnoses, will I still care enough to pray for her healing? Which faith am I supposed to have, the one that believes and fights for full healing, or the kind that rests in the knowledge that God’s plan is good even when circumstances don’t look the way we want them to? 

Here’s what God has said to me: I get to have both kinds of faith. I’ve been living like a child of divorce, believing that I have to choose between my two faith parents. God is graciously correcting my misconception, and is showing me that the two types of faith are still married. There is a dual faith that can simultaneously fight for the ultimate healing AND live out the everyday belief that God and life are still good while I’m still waiting for the miracle. Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego had this dual faith. They said (and I paraphrase), “We believe that God will save us, but even if he doesn’t, we still still serve him.” (Daniel 3:17-18). And what happened to them?  Yes, God delivered them. They got their ultimate victory. But first, they had to step into the fire. They had to exist in the midst of the heat, and He was there with them. That’s the heart of this dual faith: believing that God will save/deliver/heal, but knowing that for as long as the fire should last, He will be in it with us. Therefore, life in the fire can still be good, even great, because we’re hanging out with God in the furnace. 

Don’t get me wrong, we still hate these diseases. We hate these diagnoses. They feel absolutely wrong and stupid. Our holy discontent is still firmly in place. But I am learning that holy discontent doesn’t translate to daily misery. Holy discontent means that our spirits are big enough to fight, knocking like the most annoyingly persistent of solicitors on God’s door, pleading for that healing and not giving Him rest, while simultaneously existing joyfully in the midst of the trial, allowing God to mold our character and shape us in this fire for as long as it should last. 

What does this look like daily in our lives?  It looks like adhering to a gluten-free diet and finding recipes we love. It looks like choosing to be thankful instead of resentful that we can’t eat at fast-food restaurants much anymore, because we know it will improve our health as a family. It looks like making friends with other people who have similar diagnoses, and taking joy in those new relationships that we wouldn’t have had otherwise. It looks like doing extra fun family activities with that money that we would have otherwise spent on eating out, and being thankful that God is re-orchestrating our lives in this way. It looks like awful things (pump site changes and shots and juggling our family’s gluten and gluten-free mixed menus) becoming second-nature, because this is our life for now.

Heading in for the endoscopy.  

It also looks like Jordan and I beginning a new tradition of praying together every single night before we go to bed; praying for full healing for Nora, and also for our kids to have radical, unbelievable, Spirit-filled relationships with God as a result of this season. It looks like a daily refusal to live in fear over whether more auto-immune diseases may come, or whether our other children might be silent carriers of one of these diseases. It looks like crying and screaming into my mattress that this isn’t right, this can’t be best, there has to be healing in our future. It looks like heated, middle of the night conversations with God, asking why, why, why He’s allowing a disease to manipulate my baby’s body. It looks like learning not to take my anger out on my kids, but to take it to God, because He can handle it. It looks like finding peace that surpasses the confusion and anger, over and over again. It looks like real life, except that we now have this mind-bending understanding that we can have fun even as we fight. We can have fun in the furnace.

We can have hope of deliverance, but joy in the meantime.