Right now that faith is being tested in ways I never saw coming and I’m doing my best to pay attention. I’m standing out on the ledge I’ve trusted all these 25 years since that winter day, tapping it with my foot, feeling for the slightest tremble, wondering if it will hold. Will this season of needles, bacterial infection, open-heart surgery, stroke, MRI’s, CT scans, syrupy IV treatments, rehab, setbacks, and progress expose that boy as a fool? Will my faith tuck its tail and run now that I’ve come face to face with my own mortality? Will I feel alone and abandoned by God? What will come of my faith now that I am more like the bird than the boy?
These are the questions I’ve been asking and here at the four-month mark I have a confession to make—a testimony. Through the pain, uncertainty, and grief, God’s grace has been sufficient for me (2 Cor 12:9). His grace is a gift and so is the faith through which it comes (Eph 2:8), so I can’t take credit for either. But I can tell you this: they are at work in me.
If this sounds like a boast, it is.
I boast in my God because I am neither smart enough nor tenacious enough to construct this faith. I would ruin it with conditions, demands, and near-sighted expectations. Don’t misunderstand. I can fear with the best of them, and question, and worry over things beyond my control. But that has not defined this season of sickness and suffering for me. I have rested in the confident hope that my Maker cares for me—and that by grace through a faith that has proven again to be real. He has not left me alone, abandoned, or betrayed (Deut 31:8, Heb 13:5). In my sorrow and in my tears, he has comforted me (2 Cor 1:4). In my weakness, he has been strong. (2 Cor 12:9) I’ve only known his nearness, never his absence (Heb 4:16, Jas 4:8). For this I give thanks. I remain a man of faith.
Read the whole thing here.