Nothing lost - much gained?

Three things I’ve read this week speak of the Holy mutability of God. The idea that He invites us to participate in the outcome of life here on earth.

Forever I have had a fatalistic outlook. What will be will be; why bother trying as nothing I do will change anything.

But of that I’m repenting - changing my thinking.

There is good biblical evidence that humans’ compassion for other humans have ‘changed the mind’ of God. Some may argue that God knew we would cry out on behalf of our brothers and sisters so His plan didn’t actually change, but regardless, I feel it is evidence enough to inspire a more active participation in my conversations with God. 

When my Dad was diagnosed with cholangiocarcinoma, I knew he would die. Coming from a medical background I understood there is simply no recovering from this cancer when caught so late.

My husband however didn’t stop believing for a miracle for Dad. I felt such shame and lack of trust that I couldn’t shake the faithless diagnosis, but I KNEW there was no hope and didn’t want to be disappointed.

I vividly remember one conversation with my not-yet-believing brother shortly after diagnosis where he said there was no hope, and being a dutiful Christian I automatically responded ‘well there’s always a little hope’. His countenance at that second was indescribable, it was like his whole body enthusiastically leapt - desperate to grasp whatever information I may have. I instantly felt like a fraud and wished I could pull my hollow religious utterings back into my body.  I couldn’t deliver even an ounce of what he was hoping for - I quietly offered ‘well, there are always miracles- they can happen’. My heart was far from my words.

I will never forget the betrayed look in his eyes as he shrank back to the posture of hopeless despair. 

My prayerful, trusting husband prayed until after the end for a miracle for my Dad. At times I hated him for it. I wanted him to open his eyes, to understand how bad this was, to accept our reality. 

The eventual devastation of Dad’s death enveloped us all. To my surprise - the grief wasn’t worse for my husband when he realized his ‘deluded hope for healing ’ didn’t eventuate, and his ‘disappointment’ didn’t add any extra weight to his grief as I had feared. From what I witnessed, it is possible that by holding on to hope, my husband was spared some of the 9 months of heavy grieving we had all been participating in from diagnosis to death. By trusting, my husband didn’t lose, or look stupid, or suffer a decrease in faith in God. In fact he was the winner. He stayed close to the beating heart of God while I floundered, thinking I needed to be God's public relations manager - managing expectations - bracing all for the inevitable let down. I was busy blustering around in my own strength while my husband steadfastly held a fellow human up to the Lord and simply asked Him to change His mind.