Nothing in life is certain. I know this in my head—but most days I forget because I’m in my late twenties, healthy, have a job I love and great friends. During times of ease, find it easy to let my trust drift to my many blessings and not the one who blesses.
That can all change with a phone call on a Thursday afternoon when the doctor tells you your test results came back abnormal and we need to do a biopsy to make sure it’s not anything serious.
In that moment, even with the most amazing friends in the world (which I have—you should be jealous), the only one I wanted to be with was Jesus—my Savior, my comforter, my healer. With one phone call, God turned my world on its side and redirected my focus back to where it should be—on Him.
After I spent some time crying with my Savior, I naturally called my mom next, and then my wonderful friends, and then of course I went the internet—a treasure-trove of medical knowledge. I learned that statistics are on my side, but statistics offer little solace and no sure foundation.
God is my rock and my foundation, and He’s been my comfort these past few days and will carry me through whatever may happen next. And these past few days have been sweet and make me wonder how can I get so easily distracted. I thank God for His grace even in trials because the trials remind me of my brevity and send me running back to His arms. Why do I ever leave?!
And God reminds me again that He’s the only sure thing. He’s where I find my joy and security and hope. And while for seasons on earth, He may choose to bless me with a good job and friends and good health, I must not trust in those blessings because He can take them away in a instant (and has every right to).
Then I am left with just Him—which is a ridiculous comparison to even make for with Jesus I have everything. He is my only true treasure.
In The Problem of Pain, C.S. Lewis says it more eloquently than I ever could:
My own experience is something like this. I am progressing along the path of life in my ordinary contentedly fallen and godless condition, absorbed in a merry meeting with my friends for the morrow or a bit of work that tickles my vanity today, a holiday or a new book, when suddenly a stab of abdominal pain that threatens serious disease, or a head- line in the newspapers that threatens us all with destruction, sends this whole pack of cards tumbling down. At first I am overwhelmed, and all my little happinesses look like broken toys. Then, slowly and reluctantly, bit by bit, I try to bring myself into the frame of mind that I should be in at all times. I remind myself that all these toys were never in- tended to possess my heart, that my true good is in another world and my only real treasure is Christ. And perhaps, by God’s grace, I succeed, and for a day or two become a creature consciously dependent on God and drawing its strength from the right sources. But the moment the threat is withdrawn, my whole nature leaps back to the toys: I am even anxious, God forgive me, to banish from my mind the only thing that supported me under the threat because it is now associated with the misery of those few days. Thus the terrible necessity of tribulation is only too clear. God has had me for but forty-eight hours and then only by dint of taking everything else away from me. Let Him but sheathe that sword for a moment and I behave like a puppy when the hated bath is over—I shake myself as dry as I can and race off to reacquire my comfortable dirtiness, if not in the nearest manure heap, at least in the nearest flower bed. And that is why tribulations cannot cease until God either sees us remade or sees that our remaking is now hopeless.
I thank God for phone calls that remind me that He is my everything. At the same time, I lament that my ever stubborn and wondering heart all too easily forgets this truth once the season of trouble passes.
May He ever continue to tune my heart and life to sing His praise!