Facing Troubles, Finding Peace

I cried a lot last week.

On Monday my husband looked across the breakfast table and gave me the news I knew was coming, but didn’t want to hear: “Ruth just died.” She’d been battling cancer for months, and we knew that without a miracle her body would fail.

Knowing something is coming is always different from the reality happening. Tears flowed around the breakfast table. My youngest shared, “I’m going to miss Mrs. Ruth opening up church on Sundays.” (Ruth often did the congregational announcements on Sunday mornings.) Mike and I headed to their home and joined others in praying one last time around our friend. More tears flowed and mixed together with laughter as we told stories of the woman we all loved and admired.

On Tuesday, I spent the day with my mind wandering and praying for another friend. She’d called the week before to tell me she had breast cancer. When I went to her house to pray with her, I found her on the phone with her doctor. There was another spot. Her biopsy was on Monday, and on Tuesday we were waiting on the results. Around 6 p.m., I got the text, “Bone biopsy consistent with breast cancer. Stage IV.” We talked, cried, and sat on the phone in stunned silence.

That same night I got another text, not as serious, but disappointing. Something I was hoping for, dreaming about, excited that might happen—the beginning bud of a hope was plucked, uprooted, and died. More tears.

I woke Wednesday morning with the words of Jesus on my mind. “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). As I sat and prayed, I realized how very thankful I am for these words. The world is full of tribulation. These experiences are not unusual. What’s unusual is the peace he gives in the midst of them. In all the sorrow Jesus was present—he provided peace in my thinking, my weeping, and in my praying.

Peaceful Thoughts

There’s no moment when the gospel shines with greater clarity than death. The suffering of death is so full of sorrow. I’m heart-broken for Ruth’s husband, her children, her grandchildren, our church, our city, our state. However, side by side with the grief, other thoughts kept coming to mind: Oh my, she’s in heaven. What joy is she experiencing right now? Her race is finished, she’s fully and completely at rest! In the midst of sadness for those of us who will miss her, I felt peace about Ruth. She loves Jesus, and she’s with him now.

I also found peace in the promises of God, that he’s working all these sorrows for good. To be honest, I can’t see the good right now in any of these trials. But I know enough to know the problem is with my vision, not with God’s plan. I’m unable to see what tomorrow will bring. My understanding is so limited, so finite, so unaware of all the intricacies of how God’s at work. God knows all things, sees all things, and is at work in all things. He knows what’s best. I may not understand his ways, but I know they’re not random occurrences of bad luck. Truth brings peace to my mind: Jesus is in control. And he’s so very good.

Peaceful Tears

Knowing that God’s in control doesn’t mean I didn’t weep. I did. Tuesday evening I curled up on the couch and just let them flow. And I felt peace in the midst of my tears. Jesus walked this road; he knows the pain I’m feeling. He wept at the tomb of Lazarus, and he’s there to comfort me in my weeping. He’s not distant from our sorrows; he’s intimately aware: “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?” (Psalm 56:8).

Knowing that he cares about each tear I cry brought comfort. I don’t have to bottle them up or try to act like nothing’s wrong. He knows this world has trouble, and he gave us tears to express the pain we feel. His peace was in my tears.

Peaceful Prayers

When my friend told me the news of the Stage IV diagnosis, I desperately wanted to do something. Anything. I wanted to battle this disease with her, somehow make this diagnosis better. I wracked my brain for words of comfort and tried to figure out what I could do to help their family, and truthfully I came up empty. Slowly it dawned on me: Pray. Pray for a miracle cure. Pray for endurance. Pray she will shine God’s glory in amazing ways during this trial. Pray for their children. Pray for her husband. Pray.

There’s peace that comes from laying down all your confusion, cares, and concern before Someone who knows exactly what is needed. All these, I put before Jesus. I’m still doing this daily, hourly, minute by minute, releasing my burdens to him. And he gives me peace in my prayers.

In this world you will have trouble. It’s true. Jesus doesn’t rescue us from the trials, but he’s ever-present, walking with us through them. We can experience his peace in the midst of the pain, taking heart that he’s overcome this world. A better one is coming. Until that day, we journey on, facing troubles but finding peace.