There are some course-changing announcements on the horizon. Instead of either overwhelming you with all the details at once, or leaving out too much information, I’ve decided to do a series of blogs over the next several days. Up first:
Homeward Bound Part One: The Backstory
October 31, 2004. I’m lying on the couch and my dad is reclining in his chair in the living room of our house in Covington, Kentucky. The phone rings and my dad walks to the kitchen to answer the landline, while I continue watching the Halloween special of Sabrina the Teenage Witch on the television. He re-enters the room, sits in his chair again, and remains silent.
When the movie is over, he tells me to go change for my friend’s birthday/Halloween party. He also informs me that he is going to take my mom on a date, instead of joining me at the party as originally planned. They drop me off, drive away, and I thoroughly enjoy my evening.
A few minutes before being picked up, my cell phone rings. “We’re on our way. Get ready to go. We have to talk.” As everyone knows, those last four words make you instantly remember everything you’ve done wrong in recent history. But it wasn’t about anything I’d done.
I exit my friend’s house to see my mom and dad coming up the sidewalk, my mother in tears. “What’s wrong?” “Your dad got a phone call today. His unit is getting deployed. He’s going to Iraq. He leaves in two weeks.”
It takes me years to realize the hurt, anger, and resentment I hold over this. Not at my dad. No. Towards God. Did He do anything wrong? No. But He allowed circumstances that hurt me. He took my dad away from me for years, and returned him permanently changed. He allowed my father, my Daddy, to be physically, emotionally, and spiritually injured. And I was angry.
May 12, 2012. My mom drove up from Camp Sumatanga, where she’d been all morning. My dad and I drove down to meet her for lunch in Guntersville. After eating, my dad took one car across the street to Lowes, and I dropped my mom off at Wal Mart, then filled the car’s tank with gas. When I was done, I called her so I could join her for the rest of the shopping trip.
“Hey Momma, where are you?” “I… I don’t know.” “Ha-ha, very funny. Really, where are you? I’m walking in now.” “I really don’t know. Tabitha, I’m scared.”
At that point, you can forget walking. I’m running into the store, and by the providence of God, she’s near the entrance. She sees me and smiles; and her face is drooping. Think Tabitha. Think. What’s the acronym? FAST. Face, Arm, Speech, Time. Her face is drooping, her speech was slurred on the phone. “Momma, how’s your arm?!” “Sarms finnnee. ‘s my head. Hurt. Hurt.” “Okay, we’re going to the hospital.” “No hospital. Rest. Jus sneed go home. Sleep.” “No! We’re not just going home. It’s not just a migraine. You’re going to the hospital.”
I finally convince her to walk with me to the car. On our way, I call my dad and tell him we’re going to the hospital, he needs to get here now. By the time we make it to the car and I get her in the passenger seat, he’s there.
“Is she having a stroke?” I nod my head, “I think so.” As he speeds to the hospital, I look at our phone logs to get a time frame. It’s been less than 15 minutes. That’s good. Then I text family, and my church and tell them briefly what’s happening, to pray, and that I’ll call with more information soon.
No sooner than we walk into the ER, my mom collapses and begins to seize. The nurses rush her to the back, away from us, and we’re asked to fill out insurance forms. A few hours later, she’s transferred to a bigger hospital over an hour away. After being in the ICU for days and going through multiple tests, we learn she has a brain tumor. July 17th, we learn it’s stage 3, inoperable cancer.
It’s taken years to admit my hurt, anger, and resentment towards God over this. Did He do anything wrong? Again, no. But He allowed circumstances that permanently changed my mother physically, mentally, and emotionally. He allows her to experience immense pain. And I was angry.
He’s taken from them. He’s taken from me. And I blamed Him. Over the past month, my pastor has been preaching a series entitled “The Struggle is Real.” And one week, he said something that God used to free me. “Some of you in here tonight, you need to forgive God.” I needed to realize that my feelings were valid, and that it was okay to face them. That my God is bigger than my feelings, my anger, my hurt. And that none of it scares Him. So I did. I faced it. And I forgave God. Even though He did nothing wrong.
And He’s been reminding me that He knew everything was going to happen, and He planned ahead. He surrounded my family with Christian friends who encircled us, laid hands on us, and prayed for us that Halloween night. He gave us two weeks together, which is a luxury not afforded to many.
He led my mom to me at the front of the store. He placed a Christian friend in the ER as the receiving nurse. He impressed upon my entire church to come to the hospital multiple times and pray over my mom and over us. He gave her Christian doctors who prayed over her before surgery.
God is good all the time; all the time, God is good.
“And I still believe that you’re the same yesterday, today, and forever. And I still believe your blood is sufficient for me.”
