I dropped Anna off at her house after Tuesday night Bible Study. It was late, and raining. I was still all crusty from going to Zumba with Sarah before Study. And I hadn’t heard from Jake in a while.
As I pulled out of the driveway, I suddenly had the picture of a government car at the house at which I was presently living, with men in it holding Jacob’s flag to give to me, and I began to sob. I drove for thirty minutes to the house, crying out to God, “Even if the car is there, You are still good.” It was only anxiety, I thought, and God says to not be anxious, but to present my requests to Him. I need to present them.
And so I spent the entire drive praying that, if Jake should not be okay, or if he, yes, died, that God would not let me fail to glorify Him in the loss, that He’d protect me from confusion, from bitterness, from anger, from dragging His name through the mud as I failed to represent Him well in what would be thus far the hardest and most impossibly agonizing thing I’ve ever endured. I prayed that I would still be able to “do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility consider others as being more significant than [myself]…[looking] not only to [my] own interests, but also to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:3-4). I prayed until I had no words or tears left.
When I arrived, there was no car. And so I pulled in behind the truck and the black Acura that were always there, because their owners lived here, and fully stopped crying. I checked my phone: no missed calls from Rear-Detachment to tell me he was injured and had been airlifted to Germany. No texts from any of the Family Readiness Group leaders letting us know about how our paratroopers were doing. “No news is good news.”
Jake was still okay.
“Cast your burdens on the Lord, and He will sustain you. He will never permit the righteous to be moved.” (Psalm 55:22)