I'll Go Where You Want Me to Go
I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go
Two years ago today, Tiff shared a Facebook update after chemo treatment number seven. Tiff and I regularly shared updates about her cancer journey. We agreed that we didn't want to waste the hurt and pain that we were suffering through. Together we asked God to prepare our hearts to use this horrible situation for His good and glory. We understood what the future probably held. 100% of the people that had the type of cancer Tiff had passed away. That didn't stop us from praying for the "Noah" sized miracle, but we also knew in the depths of our hearts, that barring the miracle, Tiff would go home to be with the Lord. We were living in a very strange tension at the moment. We were walking through each day balancing good news, bad news, and no news. Our hope became deeper because suddenly it had been mixed with heartbreak. Our gratitude was now mixed with disappointment.
I vividly remember Tiff's first PET scan. We had to wake up early to go to York. It was still dark by the time we arrived. The car ride was eerily silent. We knew she had cancer, but had no idea where. She had already lost so much weight and her skin started to change color. She was so weak that she could barely walk to the room. I was only able to spend a few minutes in the prep room with her. It was the first time I had to wait in the waiting room for test results. She looked so defeated after the scan. I stopped in Gettysburg to buy her a piece of cake and she napped the rest of the day. The results showed cancer in the colon, lungs, and around her heart. We already knew all of that, but you could still hear the sound of our hearts shattering.
Her second PET scan caused anxiety again, or as a cancer patient says, 'scanxiety (anxiety over scans).' We knew she was feeling better, but what would the test results show. We were traveling to Rehoboth Beach when she got the result. The scans showed improvement everywhere. The colon tumor had shrunk. The spots in the lungs had improved. The area around her heart looked better. The oncologist even said the treatment was working “better than expected.” And yet, in the same conversation, we were reminded again that this was still Stage IV cancer. Still incurable. Still uncertain. It's hard to celebrate knowing that something bad was still going to happen in the future. I remember how badly we wanted one of those areas to come back completely clear. Just one. We were praying for a sentence that would change everything. We pleaded with heaven, and while heaven heard and was answering, it wasn't quite the way that we expected. The answers we wanted didn't come that day....they didn't come in the way we prayed any day for that matter. Instead, we walked out of the chemo center carrying both encouragement and disappointment at the same time.
That’s often how following God feels in difficult seasons. I learned more about following the Lord in the middle of the storm then in moments of comfort. The valley deepens our dependence on the Lord. It eliminates vending machine prayers and flaccid faith falls apart on the rocks of trials. Now, we do err when we think that faithfulness means the storm will stop immediately. Tiffanie and I learned that lesson the hard way. We were faithful, we were obedient, but the road didn't get easier, the answers didn't always get clearer, and the desired miracle never came. But God came to us in those moments. Mind you, not the way that we expected. We were hoping that God would remove us from the valley and put us back into green pastures, but instead He kept us in the valley, but His presence was unfailing. He didn't remove the storm, instead He took our hand and walked through it with us.
Tiffanie thanked God for “mild” side effects while carrying a chemo pump around for two days at a time. I watched her praise the Lord while exhausted, never complaining. I watched her continue loving people (she was even texting people the night before she died making sure they knew we were praying for them), serving in ministry, raising our children, and encouraging others while quietly carrying burdens most people never saw but us. Her faith in that moment altered my life in ways I still can't comprehend. That was a faith that changed you because you witnessed it. Her faith wasn't loud though, Tiff was never loud. Instead her faith was a quiet, steady, reliable faith. It was a faith that pulled from a well that was dug deep for decades prior.
One of the hymns Tiff often sang during that time was "I'll Go Where you Want Me to Go." That song carried us through that season. Did you ever hear a song that was something much more then words and music notes? That it became a daily inspiration and challenge? That was this song. Here are a few lines.
That line hits differently when life takes you somewhere you never wanted to go. For us we didn't ask for cancer, no one does. No one steps into the line of uncertainty. Nobody dreams of sitting in oncology offices talking about treatment plans, scan results, and potential future outcomes. Oftentimes the place we find ourselves in life isn't where we thought we would be, nor do we arrive by choice. The question becomes what do we do when we find ourselves in places of despair, but place where God has obviously led us. That might sound like a contradictory statement. Places of despair is the place where God places us. That smacks modern Christianity in the face. The concept of health and wealth obtained by enough faith falls apart when we find ourselves in hard places. God does indeed place us in hard spots, but its in those spots where our faith grows deepest.
I mentioned this earlier, but there’s a version of Christianity that promises constant victory, quick answers, and uninterrupted blessings. But that hasn’t been our story. To be honest with you not a single Christ follower can truly claim that for themselves. Our stories typically include tears, fear, difficult conversations, and prayers that weren’t answered the way we hoped. Does that mean that God's not faithful? Obviously not. God was, is, and always will be faithful. That is a changeless attribute of God. He is faithful in hospital rooms, waiting rooms, waiting for difficult phone calls, an ordinary Tuesday, an extraordinary Thursday, when the future feels foggy, when you feel low, and more.
One of the things Tiff said in that original post was how grateful she was for simple gifts: salvation, God’s Word, family, friends, ministry, her children, even the beauty of nature around us. Tiffanie never needed clarity on what mattered most. She was always a simple women. She would think that a sweet tea or chocolate milk from the gas station was better then a date to a fancy restaurant. Tiff never struggled to appreciate small things, but I think suffering has a way of clarifying what matters most. Your desire to rush through life comes to a screeching halt, quiet dinners with friends and family become sacred, normal days feel like daily gifts, the sound of laughter becomes louder and more warming, prayer become less 'woody' and more heartfelt, and heaven is no longer a place that we merely talk about, but instead a place where we yearn for.
Following Jesus was never a promise that we would avoid storms. It was a promise that we would never face them alone (read that again). Obeying the Lord will sometimes lead you to the greatest mountaintops, but potentially into the deepest valley....or possibly an oncology office hearing the scariest words of your life. No matter your current situation of life, the question still remains the same, will you trust Him here?
Looking back two years later, I still don’t understand everything God has allowed, and if I can be totally transparent I still don't like it. There are still questions. Still emotions. Still moments that hurt. But as I look into the review mirror I can say that God has been faithful in the middle of the storm. Not because the storm was easy, short, or bearable...but instead because He made His presence unmistakable. And if I'm totally honest, God has used my ache and loss as an opportunity to share the hope of the Gospel with those whom I would have otherwise never met.
So two years later I played that hymn again. It was the first time since then that I've had the strength to play it, and it still echoes in my heart today.
That song has unknowingly become an anthem to my life. It's about a journey of unexpected yet needed faith. Realizing that I don't have to understand every step and not having to pretend that the path is without pain or suffering. But instead taking God’s hand anyway and continuing forward, even in the storm.
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