House on the Rock

Normally in those days, Mom would enjoy a deep and restful slumber, but as soon as someone would begin talking to her or holding her hand, she’d slowly wake up. Things were different on that Sunday afternoon. The clock was ticking, the guests were in place. People were stirring all around her room, putting makeup on, trying to get her in her dress, wheeling in decorations and cake, administering meds, and yet she wasn’t. waking. up. 

The family gathered in her room tried to remain calm, gently coaxing her to consciousness. Nurses would whisper, “She’s a tired one today!”, feigning optimism while concern lined their eyes. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t imagine the devastation of having to go downstairs to tell all our friends and family that once again, she wasn’t waking up.

I walked to the window. I looked up at the sky, remembering the bigness of God. I walked through my Psalm 121 checklist. I fell to my knees. Pleading, desperate. Begging God to fling Mom’s eyes open. Time and time again, I would say “Amen,” only to turn around and look at her still sleeping soundly. Another prayer, another Amen. No movement. 

I texted a few people downstairs, plus a few others from our church family: Pray. Hard. She’s not waking up.

And in a matter of seconds, just like we prayed, her eyes flung open. She smiled brightly, and you could feel the heaviness lift in that room. Sighs of relief covered her like a blanket as she was lifted into her beautiful navy dress and wheeled out the door. 

I’ll never understand moments like that — why, on that day, of all days, did she have to take her most comatose nap? But I’ll also never forget the desperate pleading on a hospital floor, and the way God showed up, and showed off, and showed Himself to be faithful once again. It really does confirm that in our times of trial, much like Job, we don’t always get answers, but we do always get God. His closeness makes up for our question marks. 

In the Lord’s perfect kindness, the ceremony ensued. There was an emotional first look, sobs from security guards and nurses and family all alike. Then Cam and Pastor Terry assumed the altar, and Riley began her walk down the hospital chapel aisle with her father by her side.

We worshiped, prayed, heard the story of Cam and Riley’s meeting, and got to watch Cam sit by Mom’s side, holding her hand as their first dance song played. There was not a dry eye in the room. We got to gather together — 60 or more of our closest friends and family — hospital staff now included as part of that family. We took pictures, ate cake, laughed, cried, told stories, and celebrated the fact that God allowed Mom to see her son get married. Mini-mercies. Good gifts from a generous Father who has never once forsaken His children.

I think many people could angrily question God in these moments. There are times we wanted to, that’s for sure. Why a stroke? Why now? Why the week of Cam and Riley’s wedding? So many things we didn’t understand. And we could have fixated on that darkness — it would have been tempting enough. But there’s so much light that streams through, the darkness cannot overcome it. The light of His rich and tender mercy, His blessings and protection, His providential nearness. That is what we’re desperate to remember.

It was an absolutely beautiful day that I’ll never forget. And it is no coincidence that we saw God’s mercy so powerfully on display at a wedding. After all, the Bible is replete with marriage metaphors. Namely, that Christ, our bridegroom, is devoted to us despite our sinfulness. He has prepared a place for us — for all who trust in Him and call upon His name for salvation. And one day, we will get to be with Him forever. Healed, whole, and home at last.

That Heavenly union was coming soon for our sweet Mama. It was one of the reasons we could laugh and smile in the midst of this storm. She was going to be with Jesus. The wedding of Cam and Riley reminded us all that there is a perfect bridegroom — Jesus Christ — eager to bring us home to perfect glory, a place with no more sickness or suffering or sorrow. Mom was moments away from that aisle walk to Heavenly glory, free from cancer of any kind or suffering or sin. A not-so-mini mercy: Christ was soon to call her home.