I don’t write often about the spiritual aspect of my journey with Kiran. Mostly, I see my coming back to faith as a very fragile thing, and it looks nothing like the faith I grew up having. But today’s church service hit me really hard, and I found myself (once again) sitting there, tears streaming down my face.
The scripture reading was about Abraham’s faith in being willing to sacrifice his only son, Isaac, to God. First of all, how I feel hearing that story is very different now that I understand a parent’s love for their child. I cannot imagine being asked to harm Kiran – so sacrifice him, as a lamb on an altar? Remember, my faith is a fragile thing. It is certainly not strong enough to withstand such a request.
But immediately, I am thinking: Wow. If someone can have the kind of faith that they would sacrifice their only son, in obedience and with trust, can I lay my worries and fears about Kiran down?
And of course, the pastor continued, speaking with such passion and conviction, about God always showing up, always keeping His promises, always working in the stuff of our lives, even if it may not be what we thought it should be.
I think about all the unknowns of Kiran’s life. I think about my deepest fears: What if he never talks? Never eats fully by mouth? Never walks? What if the MRI reveals something far worse than I have even considered?
And when I think about those things – when I acknowledge those worries – I don’t feel like I could possibly have the strength to be who I need to be for him. But then I look back at all the hard we have made it through. And I see the people, the kindnesses, the victories that have come at just the right moments.
And I do. I see God’s hand in it. I have felt the prayers, even as I haven’t been able to utter my own. (I still don’t pray in any conventional way; I have found my prayers come out in song.) The truth is, I came back to my faith at a low point on this journey. I needed more than what I had in my life, to carry me through the days.
And I am learning, little by little, to lay my worries down. To trust. It has never been something that comes naturally or easily to me. I like control. I have great skepticism. I crave concrete answers. But this journey we are on? It forces me to let go.