I have a secret. One that I’m barely able to admit to myself let alone commit to words…especially those permanently affix to a blog post.
I think I’m losing faith.
Somewhere between God’s got it figured out and God loves you, it all seems to crumble, rushing through the holes of my conscious thought and into waking nightmare. I’m in the ER with my girl…again.The Pollyanna “finding beauty” has gotten lost in deep darkness and I can’t seem to find the way out.
I went to church on Sunday for the first time in I don’t know how long. Months maybe. I think I was looking for a way to fix myself, and pretend that we’re better. We (and by we, I mean they) discussed a desperate father with a sick son and the poor man’s broken-down faith.
I couldn’t stay. The easy discussion rubbed me raw, and I ran…barely holding myself together until I got to the bathroom and locked myself in. I don’t blame them. I don’t have any ill will. I might even have said similar things in my past.
Perhaps it’s just too close to the time I nearly lost my daughter. There’s something to be said about the healing of time and space. But what do I do in the meantime?
My faith seems too small, my understanding too narrow.
I’m terrified of where my mind trails.
I know the logic, the arguments for God’s existence. I know that emotions aren’t always accurate, but logic fails just as often.
And where does that leave me, but swamped in numbed confusion, trying to be thankful and finding my thanks lacking—stuttering in half-alive “at least the worst didn’t happen” statements:
- At least my daughter didn’t die.
- At least I got a few hours of uninterrupted sleep last night.
- At least I feel better today than yesterday.
- At least our insurance pays 80% of the medical bills
And all the “at leasts” make me feel guilty of my sorrow because I know all too well where it could have led. Until last night, my daughter was home, safe, starting to dip her toes back into life, and there are far too many others on the losing side of my equation.
There are parents whose daughters die, who lay awake all night, who feel worse today than they did yesterday, who watch medial bills tower without the benefit of insurance.
As I sit in the ER waiting for another test, I am fully aware that I may yet be on the losing side.
How can I “lean into” a God that is so rarely where I expect him to be? 
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I’ve lost the secret to contentment and my faith crumbles in the onslaught. But somehow, some way, my faith won’t let go of me. And it’s here that I am.
Thank you for your honesty, Janyre. It may not seem or feel like it, but you’re in a good place.
Thank you, Sue. I once had a friend tell me that yelling at God is still talking to him.
All I want to do is hug you, Janyre. I’ve been in shoes similar to the ones you’re wearing, and all the trappings of “faith” fell away for me, too.
As I leaned against a hospital wall, knowing my time with my 3 year old son’s daddy, who was so young–so brave–so my Knight-in-shining-Armor, was not going to be with us long, I knew everything related to faith was meaningless to me. What did any of it get us? All I had left was some tiny, tiny, tiny sliver of light. A very small, very small, measure of faith. And a lot of questions.
I still can’t answer the questions. I probably never will.
Just one day, I woke up and God was real again. And hope grew. And joy bloomed. But it was nothing I did, I can be sure of that.
I offer nothing more than that hope to you. And hugs and prayers that, somehow, the world will come upright again, and joy will grow and these terrible days will pass into memories that are colored over with the good days to come. Thank you for sharing this truth.
Thank you so much. It’s comforting to know that there’s another side of this place.
Thank you so much for writing this, Janyre—for being so honest.
Thank you.
Thank you for your honesty! Thank you for showing what is and is not included in this walk of faith. My heart wants to hug you and it wrestles with you, sharing the same questions of what to do in the meantime. I know the concept of compost. I know scraps and manure can bring new life. I know it in my head. I’ve seen it work in a garden, but I too wait to see how it is supposed to work in my own life and the lives of others. May God help our unbelief.
Amen!
Suzanne said it so well in your last post. I wish I could say more, but I’m afraid what I say would seem trite. Just know I’m praying for you and your family.
Easy discussion from people who are either too cowardly to be real or haven’t been through any flavor of hard grate me, also. Hurting with you, Janyre.
The thing is that they weren’t saying anything that isn’t in scripture. It just is hard truth sometimes and I was definitely not in a place to listen to it. I still don’t think I am.
Janyre – My heart breaks for you. Y’all have been through so much. Thank you for being so honest with your feelings. Please know I’m praying for you, your precious daughter, and the rest of your family.
Thank you for your prayers when mine are stuck.
Janyre, I so hear your heart. Live a while and life ceases to be easy and painless, if it ever was, and faith is no longer simple and glib. The questions “Why?” and “Where are you?” that are woven into human history become visceral, painful, and so scary. I am sorry. I feel for you. And I will pray for you.
Thank you.
You have had heaps and heaps of ugly, gut-wrenching trials on your journey for far too long. Of course your faith is struggling. I’ve been there, and often live there still…not in the knowing that God CAN, but in the believing that God WILL. And sometimes that is the hardest place for faith to be, because it forces us to stare in the face the fact that God’s picture of love isn’t the same as ours. And that’s painful.
I don’t understand Him, yet I know He’s working somehow. In your life, in your sweet daughter’s life, and in my own. In the meantime, let your faith crumble in His lap, and He will gently pick up the pieces and mold it into something new.
Love you, friend. I’m so sorry for your pain.
Thank you so much, Lisa!
Thank you for this brutal, raw honesty. Our Christianese is too often box-like, predictable, neat and compact with a bow on top…and then real life hits. If God isn’t who we thought He was, then what are we left with? It’s a good place to be. Not fun, not comfortable, but good.
The God that I have discovered amid the brokenness is bigger, and crazier, and better than my box god ever was. Don’t feel like you have to get to together and find your faith. Take your time. God is big enough and loving enough to handle it. He gets it, and He knows it’s okay to not be okay. ❤️❤️
Thank you, my friend. I’m so glad your girl is doing better.
I will wrestle, weep, and wait with you. Lifting you up to the God who is there and cares deeply for you and yours. And with that, I hope.
Thank you for standing with me. Shielding my family in prayer.
I’ve been in the place where I’ve come home angry from church week after week because listening to people talk about how God loves and knows us individually and how what’s important to us is important to Him made me want to scream at all of them. I’ve been praying for the same thing for ten years, and here I sit, still waiting. I’ve done my part many times over, but it’s never going to happen without His help. For some reason, God keeps telling me to wait. I sure hope He has a really good reason, and that one day I know what it is because I tend to get resentful. “I’ve lost the secret to contentment and my faith crumbles in the onslaught. But somehow, some way, my faith won’t let go of me. And it’s here that I am.” That is perfect. I am here with you. . .waiting. Prayers for you to find some kind of rest in our Savior, even if your circumstances don’t change.
Oh, Jill. I am praying for you too. I so appreciate everyone who stands in the dark night of the soul with me.
Janyre, thank you for sharing from your heart. You are loved and we are praying for your girl and your family.
Thank you for writing this. God heard your words, too. The Lord knows. Thinking of you.
Hi, I am Janyre’s Mom. She has given me permission to share the following update. (Post is split due to length)
To each of you who have written a response to Janyre’s blog, thank you for your comments of loving understanding and support for her. This has been a very rough/brutal/raw year for her. It has taken its toll on her physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. To those of you who are prayer warriors please go to the Lord in prayer on her behalf. The major assault to the family began in April of 2017 when she had a hysterectomy and was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder. While recovering from that, her daughter severed her ACL and tore her meniscus in two places. This required surgery and a long recovery on crutches and leg brace until September. She was finally cleared to go back on the swim team. Backtracking to summer – Chris suddenly lost strength and use of his left arm and hand. He had a bulging cervical disc which required urgent surgery. (Almost back to normal now). She added him to her role as caregiver. The school year started and both kids have been sick on and off the entire year. Every week one or sometimes both kids were home sick. Then about six months ago, December 2017, her daughter began having significant intermittent stomach and back pains, cause unknown. April 9, 2018, on the way to soccer practice, she doubled over in extreme abdominal pain. This resulted in emergency laparoscopic surgery – it was found that her abdomen was filled with a sticky substance. The culture indicated it was a fungal infection. But the Infectious Disease team felt that there was something else going but nothing showed up in a culture medium. The fungal infection became septic and life-threatening. She was hospitalized for 11 days and lost 20 pounds. She was home four weeks and cleared to go back to swimming. But Tuesday evening after practice she doubled over in severe abdominal pain. Janyre took her to the Children’s Hospital ER the next morning. (Contined on next post .. ).
(Jane’s post continued) She, her daughter, was admitted and that night underwent a second emergency abdominal surgery. This time the abdomen was so bloated the surgeons had to open the abdomen. It was filled with adhesions which had to be cut in order get to the severely obstructed bowel. The surgeon informed Janyre and Chris that she would be in the hospital again for at least a week. And once again Janyre is staying with her daughter day and night. Her absence from the home has taken its toll on her nine-year-old son as well. Chris’s folks and I are doing what we can to give Janyre some breaks. And “sneaking” her some home-cooked meals that she eats in the waiting room. She does not eat in front of her daughter who can’t have anything by mouth Gratefully, this time her daughter does not seem to be in quite as much pain post-surgery as she was the previous hospitalization. The latest news is that Infectious Disease discovered a rare form of micro-bacteria growing in one the culture dishes from the previous surgery. They aren’t able to identify the specific micro-bacteria so they sent it to the University of Michigan. Immunology has been added to the team of specialists overseeing her daughter’s treatment intervention. (There is only one lab in the country equipped to run the test that the immunologist has ordered). (Continued on third post).