Light that shines in the Darkness

This weekend was different from the many weekends that have strung together to be my past few months.  This weekend, I had my in-laws watch the children while I visited Caleb on Saturday and then celebrated with my sister at her bridal shower on Sunday.

 There we are, just me and my beloved.  Soaring to the heavens with a visit and sunshine!

It was a sunny day and we went for a walk, then sat on the concrete and talked for hours!  I love that man.  His walk in recovery has been a beautiful journey.  The Refuge is absolutely breathed with the Holy Spirit.

We received a letter on Friday.  It was an amazing encouragement.  The letter was from someone who reads our blog, someone I have never met, but someone who has walked a similar path.  The letter put us both in tears. (Obviously we hadn't just read it in the previous picture!)  The letter contained an incredible description of one man's journey through the addiction of his father, of God's hand directing that story, and of complete restoration of a man who "has since finished his race on earth and is now before the very face of his redeemer."   This letter encouraged both of us to "see the many testimonies of God's relentless pursuit of each of us," and this gave me new eyes to see our journey as one where God is drawing us to Him.


The part of the letter that really made me cry started with these words, talking about the man's father: "If he were here, Caleb, I know he would say to you this: your identity is not 'heroin addict' or even 'former heroin addict.' Your identity is 'Loved and Redeemed.'  Don't ever forget that.  Lindsay, I want to also encourage you too, that your identity, even though it is part of your story, is not 'wife of heroin addict,' or 'wife of former heroin addict.' Your identity is 'Loved and Redeemed.'  Don't ever forget that."
"As you recall your story, as you recount it to others when needed, always focus on how it has proved your identities as 'Loved and Redeemed.'  The Enemy- oh how the enemy loves to call out the name 'Forsaken'! But we must tune our ears to the voice of Jesus as it calls out our real names, the names He has given and stamped on your lives."

It was an incredible letter.  Enclosed was a gift as well, a gift that the writer of the letter called: "in part, an offering, a memorial of praise to God- a celebration of sorts- for all of the tender mercies that He poured upon our family in the midst of darkness; for all of the bags of groceries we found on our porch; for the anonymous checks we found in the mail; for all of the help with recovery programs we couldn't afford; for the college tuition anonymously paid for; for the unexpected angels/new friends that found my dad in his most fragile place and loved him back to Jesus; for the immeasurable wideness in God's mercy."

How could the author of this letter have known the strength and focus this letter would offer in a weekend that began in the brightest of heavens and in an instant tumbled into the depths of darkness?  How could he have known what was coming? We didn't know.  We read this letter and rejoiced over the Truth and Love in the words of the author.  We rejoiced over the incredible journey this man took, the hope that he shared, and his kindness to our family...  We read this letter in the sunshine of a beautiful Saturday.

Mere hours later, Caleb called me crying, sobbing.  One of his closest friends had been found unresponsive in a hotel room and was in the ICU at a local hospital.  CRASH.
The darkness of the reality of addiction came crashing down upon me, and I couldn't comfort Caleb, I couldn't run to him and throw my arms around him and sob with him over the crazy pain and scary reality because he was in rehab and there are rules.

You see, there was one part I left out about our Sunny Saturday... we were making plans for Caleb to come home at the end of May...
He had received the blessing of the ministry, he has been doing well, and because he has a wife and four children to support, they were going to allow him to finish the program early.  We were excitedly discussing a future in the sunlight.
But the night brought with it darkness.
In the morning, on Sunday, because the children were still with my in-laws so that I could attend my sister's shower at 1pm, I went to visit this friend of Caleb.
Caleb wasn't able to leave the safety of his home at The Refuge... and it was for the best.  I sat in the hospital for over two hours, praying, trying to understand, and watching a machine breathe for a man in his twenties... who should be in the prime of his life...

As I sat, I wrote these words: "I. Hate. Drugs.
But what option do I have? There is no getting rid of them, and there is no where on earth to run that they cannot be found.
So, who will love the addicts?  It is pain, this loving addicts, pure pain.  Sorrow comes when loving someone so broken...
What solution is there against this deadly pleasure trap that steals away our men and women, robbing them of their God-ordained purpose?
I don't know what part I play while I sit in the sidelines watching the drama of these lives unfold, unable to stop the destruction.
I don't know why God chose to put me here, with no children, on the day this friend entered the hospital...
I don't know if I'm supposed to wait here to speak with his family... But I know with an overwhelming peace that I am supposed to be in this room, praying, right now.
I feel pain, I feel fear, I feel sadness, overwhelming sadness.  But I also dwell in peace.  A peace I cannot explain.  I KNOW God is bigger than this mess.  I KNOW He is so much bigger.
But He pulls back, He waits.  He let this happen...
His timing is not our own."

I waited to pray with his mom and sister before leaving the hospital.  I hardly knew the man, but I am completely connected to him and his suffering.  All I had to offer his mother and sister was the promise, "blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."  And we cried together and hugged... Then, I walked out of the ICU, back into the day.

After my sister's bridal shower, which was a beautiful blessing, I cried as I prayed all the way back to my in-laws.
I knew then that Caleb couldn't leave early.  He is safe in there, I can't promise he will be safe with me.  Watching a man who was full of life yesterday, not able to breathe on his own today, shook me to the core.  I have frequently heard the warnings of what can happen if someone relapses after rehab... but today, I lived it.

And then, I remembered the letter, the discussion of God's relentless pursuit, the encouragement to remember His faithfulness.  The letter reached into the screams of "forsaken" that were haunting my drive and, as I remembered the words so carefully crafted, I came to peace once again.  "Loved and Redeemed."  I cried out loud to Jesus.  We cannot escape the brokenness, but we don't ever have to lose the Light, Hope is never beyond our grasp.

I waited all day to hear again from Caleb.  After seeing his friend, I needed to hear his voice.  But there are rules for a reason and so I waited.  He was able to get a few minutes, due to the circumstances, and we agreed he needs to stay... no matter the cost to... to finish the program, to stay plugged in, to get this right even if the leadership feels he would be okay out here in the real world... even if every fiber of my being longs to be reunited as a family, to give the children a daddy, to have a place that is our own...

It was hard for me.  Hard to let go, again, of that dream to be a family.  That dream that on Saturday morning had seemed so. close.  It had been the end of May, it was close enough to be talking of where we could live and what work he could do.

But the reality hit me hard in that hospital room.
God's timing is not our own.

I stubbornly, and figuratively, stomped my feet on the drive home, perhaps bargaining with God... I have been good, I have been faithful, can't I just have my husband? Please?  I will be a good wife, best there ever was!  I will live wherever you want me to, just please let us have a together home.

The irony of my words wasn't lost on me...
"I will live wherever You want, but... only if you don't want me to live where You've put me right now..."

As I talked with Caleb, I realized, I'm where I am supposed to be.  Split between generous family, a few days here, a few days there...  If I concentrate on the frustrating bits, it will destroy me.  If I focus on the grace, how can I be anything but grateful?

We got three monetary gifts in the mail this week.
My children are so well cared for, healthy, and they are even joyful (almost always).
Our house sold and I was able to pay off all the debt from the past.  That means, all the mess, all the debt, all the money issues... they are finished.  We start over with no debt.  That is a huge- grace.
Caleb is alive, he is well, he is living for Jesus, he is "Loved and Redeemed."  I can't fight for something different right now, not when this is something I have prayed would happen for eight years!

God knew that we needed to hear the words in that letter, because He knew what was coming for us this weekend.
His light shone through the darkness.  "The light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."- John 1:5

I will keep clinging to the Light.  May you do likewise and be saved from the darkness and despair.  Keep putting one foot in front of the other, one second at a time, living in the miracle of each breath.  We aren't promised the future, and we can't change the past, but we can LIVE right this minute in the fullness of God's grace and love no matter what darkness we're up against.

Please pray with me for Caleb's friend and his friend's family as they go forward.

Please notice the miracle that each breath brings you.

Please, if you get to live as a family and have your spouse beside you, hug them close for a little longer today and rejoice in the gift of just being able to do that.

God Bless.