When the Worst Happens

God Says, “You Will Overcome.”

My dear husband of nearly forty-eight years still grapples with his recovery from an April car crash. After all, he broke his neck, and a bunch of other really awful things happened. But the worst part, for me, is watching him trying to make sense of his life now that many things he loves are taken from him.

For one thing, he’s not driving As many of us have found, taking away the keys makes people very grumpy. My mom went to her reward still complaining that my sister stole her car. She’s no doubt still grousing in the great bye and bye, because that’s my mom. But I’m sure I’ll be just as loud and irritating when someone grabs the car keys from my cold, dead fingers.

My husband is much more stoic than either my mom or me, but he’s just as obsessed. Again and again, I catch him scrolling through trucks for sale, as if he plans to shoot up the lot if they won’t sell him a good, solid pickup. But first he must renew his license. Hence, the DMV practice test he ordered, even though his real challenge will be passing the eye exam.

My heart break as this brave, yet broken man tries to claw back what he sees as his identity. While the accident itself was horrendous (he spent nearly two months in hospital/rehab), the psychological pain seems worse. Lately, it feels like Groundhog Day, where the same questions and laments cycle over and over.

Besides feeling great compassion and a bit of squirmy discomfort at his emotional state, I’ve tried to show him there’s another way. I tell him you don’t have to hate everything. As Father Richard Rohr reminds us, when we can no longer change a situation, we’re challenged to change ourselves.

Which I realize is much harder when the Pollyanna you’re married to effectively takes away your keys.

Yesterday, he was complaining about our live-in adult son (the one with autism and SUD). My husband does this nearly every day, sometimes continuously, until I want to shout, “Give it a rest, already!” Yes, our son rearranges, moves, borrows and never brings back stuff my husband then can’t find. But being in a foul mood twenty-four-seven is so unhealthy (for me!). That’s why I asked him to try to find one good thing every day.

“Impossible,” he growled. That kid drives me batty. Why just today he . . .”

I’m sure he pointed out a litany of wrongs, but all I heard was, “and he leaves his wet towel on the floor.” I may have said something about choosing your battles.

But what if those battles are eating you alive?

Whether you’re grieving the loss of a spouse or a child or the diagnosis is grave, or you just lost the job, it’s natural to want to shake your fist at God for allowing such suffering. Okay, you might tell yourself that your terrible situation isn’t as bad as fill-in-the-blank’s. But comparisons only help for a moment, if they help at all. Then we’re left knowing that God is all-knowing and all-powerful yet the Ruler of the Universe seems to stand by and watch us suffer.

Or does God?

As a child, I read about Jesus healing a man with a withered hand. Hey, I had a withered hand too! So why hadn’t Jesus healed me? Didn’t Jesus love me enough? Wasn’t I good enough? I fell for the bad theology of thinking I deserved punishment or had done something to get God teed off.

That’s where I see so many people stuck, and if I’m honest, I admit that much of the time, I’m stuck too. Maybe this is a good reason to think about what the mystic Julian of Norwich said:

God did not say: You will not be assailed, you will not be belabored, you will not be disquieted, but he said: You will not be overcome. God loves us and delights in us, and so he wishes us to love him and delight in him and trust greatly in him, and all will be well.  

So how can I delight in this God who loves me?

I could stop rolling my eyes when hubby starts in on the greatest hits of All that is Wrong with His World. I could start taking my own advice and let him be wrong. I could quit speaking to him like a good therapist and just lavish him with love.

Yesterday evening, my husband looked so discouraged. He can’t drive, his beloved Ford truck is no more and he can’t go fishing. He still has hemodialysis three times a week and dammit, his neck still hurts like a mother.

All my little pep-talk gems bubbled up, ready to spew rainbows and kitties and puppies on a much-decorated Marine. Find Something Good threatened to release a shower of unicorns and sparkles on this genuinely hurting person.

Instead, God whispered a better way. I put my arm around him and said, “I love you from the top of your bald-spot down to your cute little super toe.” Laughter echoed from the heavens and, if only for a moment, we overcame.