He Shall Reign Forevermore

 He Shall Reign Forevermore

      November 22nd.  If I live another sixty years I will always remember this as one of the worst days of my life.  Some of you might be familiar with Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.  This is one of my favorite books.  It details the foibles of a very unlucky kid named Alexander.  Some of his exploits include not getting a toy in his cereal box, mom not packing his favorite treat for lunch, the teacher not liking his invisible picture, having to go to the dentist, not getting the shoes he wanted, his favorite pjs weren't clean, and having to eat lima beans for dinner.  Those are pretty hard things for a kid.  But one year ago today was a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day for the Robinson household.  

      The day prior was fraught with disappointment and discouragement.   It was hard waking up each day not having hope or the expectation of joy.  You literally wondered, is today the day?  I would google what Tiff's condition would be like when she passed.  I tried to brace myself for what I expected to be an ugly finish.  I can't tell you the war that waged within me.  The cry for a big miracle while knowing that the miracle was going to be her homecoming.  

      It was a Friday last year.  She felt off.  Her breathing was more complicated then normal.  Her mom was visiting around lunch time and I left to get food for everyone.  By the time I came back her health bottomed out.  They took her for an emergency CT scan.  Tiff never got an x ray or scan without me.  I would typically walk beside her bed as they wheeled her down elevators to different floors.  I would walk her straight to the door.  I wasn't allowed in the x ray room, but I would sit outside the room and cry and pray.  On this day Tiff looked so defeated.  The thoughts of death and finality were so heavy on her heart.  I honestly think this was the day when she faced death face to face.  I followed her bed after the x ray.  I took a picture of her being transported.  That was the last time Tiff would ever leave her room.  Palliative care was already in the room.  The results of her scan were already read before we entered the room.  Her lungs were about 90% encompassed with fluid and cancer.  This was it.  For the first ever we heard the word hospice, pain management, and we went through what to expect.  For the first time we offically heard a time line....days to maybe weeks.  The goal was to try to get her comfortable enough to make it to Thanksgiving.  She was quiet.  She didn't ask any questions.  She stared at the wall.  I asked questions that I hated asking.  Her oxygen was bumped up to 10 liters, she needed a bi-pap machine, a full face mask to breath.  The nurses and doctors recommended that family and friends visit.  The time had come.  Heaven felt closer then the room we were sitting in that night.

      This was like a final hammer blow.  That Friday was supposed to be a good day.  Our town choose Tiffanie to light the Christmas tree that night and for Noah to sing.  We fought so hard to get her to be at the tree lighting.  Noah had practiced his song so hard for months.  He choose it for Tiff.  He said "momma will love this song."  We choose to not tell the kids right away.  We wanted them to go about their day not knowing.  The crowd around the tree lighting was aware of Tiff's condition because I had posted on social media.  Noah's song was the loudest sermon that Waynesboro had ever heard, and he didn't even know that he was preaching it.  We were able to watch Noah sing from an I-Pad.  Tears flowed.  This would be the last time that Tiff would ever hear him sing.  She told me how proud she was of him.  It was hard seeing our kids smile and laugh, knowing that soon their life was about ready to crash around them.  They still hoped and prayed that she would get better.  They still thought there was a chance for her to come home.  In a few hours that dream would crash down.  I can't imagine being in my mom's shoes during those days.  She had to bear the weight of watching my kids while grieving Tiff.  I have no idea how she did it.

      The kids arrived at the hosptial.  They thought it was just a regular visit.  I was there when the exited the elevator.  They screamed 'daddy' and gave me the biggest, deepest hug.  I led them to the waiting area, knelt down, and told them that Tiffanie was dying....that she wouldn't be coming home.  That she was going to heaven soon.  I can't recount to you how emotional that was.  Imagine for a moment a dad telling his then 12, 10, and 8 year old children that their mom, a centerpiece of their life was going to pass away.  Tiff wanted to see them.  They entered the room of a woman who created them, loved them, adored them, treasured them....knowing that this would be one of the last times ever.  She embraced her babies and we all wept uncontrollably.  She held their sobbing bodies.  We said our goodbyes, Tiff gave them each instruction, she told them to love Jesus.  The weight of the world was bearing down on us.  

      It was that night that it dawned on me that I was about ready to become something I didn't want.  I title I dreaded, hated, and feared...a widower.  A title that I have since embraced but still despise.  I couldn't believe we were there already.

     The lone hope that anchored my soul was Noah's song.  He sang Chris Tomlin's "And He Shall Reign Forevermore."  Here is a link if you are unfamiliar with the song (https://youtu.be/aRVs0HikGeM?si=hn-msk_MZoMnMTFy).  Prior to that song I had asked the stereotypical questions like "God, where are you" or "how can you be good in this" or "God, how can you be on the throne when my world is crumbling?"  I don't regret those questions or doubts.  They were honest.  I embraced an honest approach to my relationship with God during those ten months.  The song reminded me that even in death, cancer, sadness, and decades of dying dreams that Jesus still was on the throne.  I ran to Psalm 29:10, "The Lord sits enthroned over the flood; the Lord sits enthroned as King forever."  I needed that because the flood waters of uncertainity had risen and we were drowning.  But God sat on His throne.  He hadn't cast us off, He still offered His tender care in those final hours of Tiff's life and the last days of me as a husband.

      Noah's song was chosen for Tiff, but God in His sovereignty moved my boy to sing this song for everyone.  It was a song for all of us, a song that would live in my hearts in the coming days, and to be honest, in the decades ahead.  His song reminded everyone that cancer doesn't dethrone God, that death doesn't dethrone Him, and that grief doesn't dethrone Him.  In those last days we needed a God who sat calmly, peacefully on His throne.  We didn't need a frantic God who was frazzled.  In her last days Tiff needed the strength of that King...a King whose kingdom doesn't end.  And that is the exact strength that God gave my beloved wife.  We found Him even in the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  The circumstance was dire, hope felt far away, but we were not abandoned or forsaken.  He refused to leave our room.  While we never physically saw Him we felt Him.  He was there in the most impossible situation, providing a peace that was truly beyond understanding.