Update & Thoughts on Suffering

This past week has been mercifully uneventful. Liam had fevers for one day, but they went away after switching to a new antibiotic. He’s still been nauseous, but it’s starting to get better. And we’re just waiting for his blood counts to return. Ben and the kids are sick with a cold, so I have been alone with Liam at the hospital since last week, and have spent some time processing the last eight months of our life. Since Liam’s diagnosis, Ben and I have found it therapeutic to write out our thoughts. Below is a short personal reflection on the things I have been contemplating.

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In May of 2024, our five-year-old son Liam was diagnosed with leukemia. I met and wrestled with grief for the very first time, embodying the words of the Psalmist: “...every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping. My eye wastes away because of grief.” (Psalm 6:6) I was overcome with deep sorrow that evoked in me screams of anguish as I drove home from the hospital in those early days of Liam’s illness. Our life felt capsized by this unwelcome tragedy, and we were devastated by the nightmarish thought of watching our child suffer, or of losing him entirely. At some point, my emotions settled and I adjusted to our new reality. And so a new pilgrimage in me began. 

Difficulty defined the following six months. Our family life became fragmented, always a hospital stay away from one another. Chemotherapy wreaked havoc on the cancer and Liam’s body, and we watched him deteriorate, pass closely by death, and begin to recover. This vicious cycle repeated several times with the onslaught of various life-threatening infections that can occur when there aren’t any functioning white blood cells in the body to prevent them.

Looking back, I perceive that the tumultuous nature of Liam’s illness and the ebbs and flows of grief seem to elicit two responses in me at different times: distraction and attention. The first leaves me numb to the pain, but spiritually parched. The second leads me to my Maker. 

It’s not that I get distracted by bad things. I fill my time at the hospital with plenty of good things, good books, and life planning that make me feel normal again. But then the occasional iphone scrolling begins to slip in, and my time in God’s Word slowly dwindles. Before I know it, the noise of screens and to do’s and cluttered thoughts leave me distant and apathetic. I long for a break from the chaos ensuing all around me, and my disoriented sleepy soul is convinced that I’ll find it in some quick fix. The catch with counterfeit comforts is that they leave you restless and empty, hungry and unsatisfied.

“For he satisfies the longing soul, and the hungry soul he fills with good things.” - Psalm 107:9

At various moments along the way, I realize that my inner agitation is tethered to the imbalance of my affections. My desires and pursuits are disordered. Good books, productivity, and leisure are gifts from God, but only He can satisfy and give true rest to my soul. I turn and orient myself toward Him again. I open His Word and whisper desperate prayers. He gently wakes me from my stupor.

You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore. - Psalm 16:11

This awakening, of course, is nothing of my own doing. Grace always initiates. His light shines through of its own accord and burns through the numbing and the noise that have temporarily annexed my thoughts. At first, I feel the searing pain of heartache again. And that is where God meets me with His comfort, real, beautiful, healing comfort.

“This is my comfort in my affliction, that your promise gives me life.” - Psalm 119:50

I am free. I am aware of God’s quiet presence with me. I can see clearly again. I start to look for what He is doing in the midst of my circumstances, and I find ever so many manifestations of divine intervention. I think of my sweet sick boy and his love for Jesus and selfless compassion for others. A miracle. I see the multitude of people all over the world led to prayer, to the very throne of grace on Liam’s behalf. A miracle. I recall a recent simple candlelit dinner at home with my husband and all three shining little faces of my children perched about my table. A miracle. I consider the goodness and love of God poured out on a world of sinners in need of His grace. The greatest miracle of all. 

“It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.” - Deuteronomy 31:8

My journey through suffering continues and I still mourn Liam’s illness everyday, but God has committed Himself to me. The unraveling of complacency and the kindling of attention is His work; perhaps that is one of His great purposes in allowing hardship into our lives. It jolts our hearts awake and gives us eyes to see His involvement in ways that we’d been too busy to notice. Oh what hope we find in Him! A hope bursting with goodness and beauty that shines defiantly in the darkness.

I am learning to trust more wholeheartedly, to let Him meet my deepest needs. May I cease to succumb to distraction, and choose to be attentive to the miracles, to the story that God is telling. 

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul.

He leads me in paths of righteousness

for his name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil,

for you are with me;

your rod and your staff,

they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies;

you anoint my head with oil;

my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

all the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord

forever.