when the heart cries.

My heart is heavy today.

This week, way too many things are weighing on my heart. My father, who is on the eve of his ninety-third birthday, took ill about a month ago, and since then has endured more health issues than he has through his entire lifetime. At the time I am writing this, he lays on a hospice bed, pretty much just waiting to die. The burden is heavier on my sister, who is facing all decisions and complications, that all of a sudden are multiplied by the current stay-at-home situation, and being separated by 1100 miles.

My heart is also heavy for my son, my first born, whom I have not seen in three months, also 1100 miles away, and has not answered his phone for two days. The fear of the unknown takes over. I worry about his health, his finances, his emotional state.

My heart is heavy for my older sister, who pretends to be strong and yet internalizes her pain so not to worry her loved ones, to the point of getting physically sick.

My heart is heavy because our tribulations, big or small are compounded by a scary global pandemic that has us living like prisoners in our own homes. Churches can’t meet, families can’t gather, and our only form of contact is through technology. Yet, as thankful as I am for that technology, how I miss the touch of a friend’s hand and the warmth of a sister’s hug (whether she is my blood sister or not)!

Tonight, I cried. I finally cried. I cried for my father and my sisters. I cried for my mother, who I wish were here with me now. I cried for my son, for my daughter and her young family whose lives have been turned upside down, for my husband, a wonderful godly man that sometimes I think I don’t deserve. But most of all, I cried for myself, for all the wasted time, for all the hugs not given, for all the time not shared. I begged God for a word. Then, in the mist of it, I read:

And Elijah said to Ahab, “Go, eat and drink, for there is the sound of a heavy rain.” So  Ahab went off to eat and drink, but Elijah climbed to the top of Carmel, bent down to the ground and put his face between his knees. “Go and look toward the sea,” he told  his servant. And he went up and looked.

     “There is nothing there,” he said.

     Seven times Elijah said, “Go back.”

     The seventh time the servant reported, “A cloud as small as a man’s hand is rising from the sea.”

     So Elijah said, “Go and tell Ahab, ‘Hitch up your chariot and go down before the rain stops you.’”

     Meanwhile, the sky grew back with clouds, the wind rose, a heavy rain came on and Ahab rode off to Jezreel. The power of the Lord came upon Elijah and, tucking his cloak into his belt, he ran ahead of Ahab all the way to Jezreel. (1 Kings 18:41-46)

            I can think of at least two different sermons to be preached from that. But here is mine: Elijah had faith even before he started to pray, he persevered in his faith through the prayer (seven times he sent his servant out), and he didn’t get discouraged when he only saw a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand. It’s easy to offer lip service and just say, “Don’t worry, God will work it out,” but not so much to persevere in the middle of the storm, when nothing happens. And it’s hardest when we think the answer to our prayers  looks so insignificant that we doubt it was even an answered prayer. The good news is that suddenly, the power of the Lord comes upon us with such might that we have to run and take action.

            Just as I was writing this, a dear friend asked for prayers for her dad, who had fallen in his assisted living facility.  Another one, her husband lost his job. Yet another one is dealing with serious family issues. Yes, Lord, our hearts are heavy these days. But you have also promised that if we put our faith in you, and rest in your love, you will carry our burdens. You also asked us to take up yours, which is light and easy to bear. Oh, Lord, can we swap?