On September 11, 2014, our daughter was diagnosed with a brain tumor. On September 20th, she walked out of the hospital tumor free. In those 10 days, I had several lengthy conversations with God—He only had to have a few short ones with me.
Conversation No.1: You are not Job.
For a brief moment, I thought I might be another Job—you know, the man who the Bible tells of having a series of horrific things happen to him only to have the Lord bless “the latter days of Job more than his beginning”. In 2008, our family began a downward spiral into the abysses called the economy. It was a defining moment in our lives until we packed up and left for Nashville in December of 2012. Nashville gave us an unexpected fresh start, a chance to start over free from the baggage we had allowed ourselves to tote around with us. Then in 2013, my dad was killed in a bicycling accident one month before my brother was to be married. My heart broke knowing that I could never hug my dad’s neck again, and it wept for my mother who was left alone as a widow.
We now had a spectrum of empathy and experience to relate to those who had been through loss in one way or another. We already had a story of His redemption to tell at this point—how we had learned through adversity to come together as a family, serve others instead of ourselves, and most importantly dwell fully in Christ’s teachings of the Kingdom. Surely, we were in the clear for a while. The God of Love had to know that we couldn’t handle much more. We had lived our fair share. God wouldn’t allow anything else to touch our family because we had taken our turn, learned our “lessons”, and served our time. We were safe for a good while, right?
Even when Kensi started having severe migraines, I would not allow myself to think the worst—it would be ridiculous to do so, because we had already been on the road of tragic surprises. In a sense, I guess I thought that we were now untouchable. When the nurses asked if they could speak to me alone, and then escorted me down the hall to a tiny room that I assumed was for the purpose of breaking bad news, I knew that what they were about to tell me would put me back on that road. Usually, I have a bizarre ability to recall the details of my settings, but I honestly couldn’t tell you at all what that room looked like, only what was said, “Your daughter has a mass at the base of her brain.”
ME: “Are you kidding, God? At this point, it’s not just about me. What about my mom who is still grieving for her husband? What about my husband? Do You know the stress that consumed his past? What about friends? How can we possibly ask them to pray for more? Oh, and the family . . . we just had a funeral last year.”
The surgery was done. The prayers of friends and family were heard. We had a peace that surpasses comprehension that surrounded us then and the days to follow. I went home to clean up and get a full night’s sleep while my husband took his rotation at the hospital. We would know the results in a few days. That night I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to have another gentle talk with God.
ME: “Is this what the rest of our lives are going to be filled with . . . exhaustion, worry, fear? Will she be able to walk? Will we live with chemotherapy every day? Do we need to puta hospital bed in the living room? What if it’s cancer? Then what? Am I next? I have been feeling some weird pains in my side. Should I have them checked out? I know You’ve got this. It’s going to be okay, but . . . ”
That’s when He laid it on me. He did not clinch me with guilt over the sadness that fought against my faith or the worry that had been creeping in my heart. He did not remind me that there are people who live my fears every day of their lives! He did not say that I should be thankful she emerged from the surgery glowing and healthy and that everything really was going to be okay. He simply said, “You are not Job.”
I came to understand that Job and I are not the same creations, even though we were created by the same Creator. His was a story where his life was handed over to the enemy, “Behold all that [Job] has; he is in your power”(Job 1:12). In MY story, I am promised to never be alone or forgotten—“I WILL NEVER DESERT YOU, NOR WILL I EVER FORSAKE YOU” (Hebrews 13:5).
The God of Love, the “Impenetrable Mystery”, will never leave me to a pattern of loss, sorrow, pain, or loneliness. Yes, my future will have more tears. Yes, there will be more struggles and pain, but I will never be alone. This life is MY story. I am not Job, and neither are YOU! So friends, let’s not expect the worst or worry about what tomorrow may bring, but know when it seems like the sun will never shine again, He will never leave us. – LHB
Conversation No. 2: I am not Loki.
There are times when I reflect on the moments of Kensi’s surgery remembering the peace beyond comprehension that had generously covered us. She was having a brain tumor removed . . . a BRAIN TUMOR, but at times we treated it like she was having her appendix taken out. There truly was a peace that surrounded us, reminding us that God was completely aware of what was going on, and that He had no intention of abandoning us. After all, I had already been told that I wasn’t Job.
But I had seen the movies and read the books. I had watched the hospital scenes, the grand crescendo of teary music where the smiling patient looks at the doctor and says, “I’m going to be okay, right doc?”
The doctor does not smile. He looks at the loving family members whose joy is fading to a solemn understanding of the news he is about to calmly reveal. “Ma’am. There was a complication.”
I could see it all running through my brain—maybe because my mind has a tendency to create plot lines on a whim, or maybe because I have always had a flare for the dramatic. I pictured the team of surgeons that frequented our room somberly entering with their clipboards in hand. They would smile gently at Kensi, and then the head surgeon would say, “Mr. and Mrs. Brandenburg, may we speak to you in the hall.” I had already been through one of those moments a few days before. I would know that a talk away from our child meant bad news. Then . . . BAM! They would drop the news on us that would change our lives forever.
Several years ago, I watched a dear friend live out Philippians 4:8 – the verse in the Bible that tells us to think on things that are true. All the signs were there that she was miscarrying her third child, but being miles from her doctor, she chose to think on what was true. As far as she truly knew, she was pregnant. When she got home, the doctor confirmed what she had chosen to believe—she would deliver a healthy baby girl. Since that moment, despite my flair for turning every situation in my life into a novel, I have tried to pull out the absolute truth in the moments of my life—to separate the facts from the “what ifs”, or the “what could be”. But sitting in a hospital room, with a child who you had raised on organic foods, had never had a need for an antibiotic, and had always had a perfect check-up, was now resting in a bed with a tube coming out of the top of her skull and a series of stitches running down the back of her head. This was my new truth.
I let go of the hold I had on my thoughts, allowed them to wonder into worry to the point that I felt like I would suffocate if I stayed in the room much longer. I took a break, a walk to the “bathroom”—to think, to cry, to get a hold of myself. It was in that moment that God and I began to talk again. It was clear, and kind of funny, but I knew what He meant as soon as I heard it. I AM NOT LOKI.
The first image that popped in my brain was the Marvel movies epic portrayal of the Norse god—thin faced, pale, with two large gold horns on his head, his long cloak flying open as he walked towards me and his black hair blowing angrily in the breeze. That was the Loki I saw. At first it made me giggle, but I got it. I knew what God was saying.
In Norse mythology, Loki was the god of trickery and deceit. He was usually portrayed as a scheming coward whose motives were purely selfish. I believe in a loving God, who has never deceived me. If I choose to believe on what is true, then I can believe on that. Numbers 23:19 says, “God is not human, that He should lie, not a human being, that He should change his mind. Does He speak and then not act? Does He promise and not fulfill?” God is not a god of lies; He is the God of love. John 3:16 declares that He loves the whole world . . . why would I have any reason to believe that I was not a part of that?
The surgeons had told us that she was healing miraculously. They would enter the room and say things like, “Well, all we can say is that you’re doing great!” They were amazed at the ten-year-old girl who was eating on her own, making crafts everyday, and ordering Pad Thai for dinner! So, why had I believed that God was suddenly going to write a dramatic twist into our story? Had he not carried us this far? At that point, we hadn’t heard the results of the tumor’s biopsy. We still had a hurdle to jump, but God had just told me that he wasn’t a trickster. He wasn’t going to let me go. Even if the results were not what we had hoped for, He would be walking with us just as he had been since the moment we realized He was there!
Bad things may happen in our lives; we were never promised that they wouldn’t. The truth is . . . God is not Loki! He is not a god of myth who seeks to pull the proverbial rug out from under you . . . the world might, but He won’t. He is the one true God who will be there to catch you, brush you off, and stand you back up again. Do not be deceived, my beloved brethren. Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow. (James 1:16-17) – LHB
