The Illusion of Control

“But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”

- Josh 24:15b

It is April of 2024 and I am writing this from the waiting room of an ICU. I am currently surrounded by family who are all waiting impatiently and nervously for updates on the health of an otherwise healthy 41-year-old member of our tribe who now lies in an ICU bed with more tubes, machines, and lights attached to her than Darth Vader. It all began less than 3 days ago with innocuous abdominal aches that rapidly progressed to uncontrolled and crippling pain, which led to the emergency room, an emergency surgery, several follow up surgeries, three trips between two hospitals, and now hours of waiting. We have engaged dozens of family members and friends who committed to pray for specific needs, have had meals purchased or delivered to the hospital, and have all cried as the emotions arrived like a tidal wave we never wanted.

The urgency of the situation seems to have subsided a little, but the uncertainty remains. Through this process, the questions have abounded and the answers have come in at a rate that makes every one of us uncomfortable. There have been instances which are unexplainable by, and in fact defy, modern medicine.

It is moments like these – the simple stomach pain that leads to a surgery; the phone call that brings your life crashing down; or the diagnosis that you simply cannot believe, much less accept – which can cause each of us to re-evaluate the course of our lives, if we will take the opportunity to look inward at the foundations that our minds are built on. Our current circumstances are doing so for me as I write these words.

I have been through enough of these moments in my own life to know that this is a sort of crossroads for each of us. None of us chose to now be sitting in an ICU waiting room but here we are anyway. We can do nothing to directly change these circumstances regardless of our intense and unrelenting desire to do so. All we can do is wait, ask questions, take care of each other, and pray. That, and look for ways to grow together through it. As we have been experiencing all of this, there have been a small number of other families in similarly dire circumstances. We have watched as they cry and grieve, as they get similarly unbelievable news, and as they quietly question everything in life.

All I want to tell them is: me too.

Just three days ago I felt like my life was almost entirely under my control. The temperature of my house, the comfort of my bed, the daily routine which I have come to love – all of it was firmly under my control. And now I have been forced to reckon with the fact that all of this control was nothing more than an illusion. I have been acutely reminded, once again, of the fact that I have precisely zero control over the course of my life. The best I can do is make wise decisions with the wildly unpredictable things that life throws at me. When these unpredictable moments hit, I often find myself first trying to muscle my way to a solution.

Herein lies the opportunity for my own growth in the midst of brutally painful moments. Prayer has always been a mystery for me. It sometimes feels like a game at Dave and Busters – you know the ones: You pull the lever a hundred times the same exact way at the same exact time and get a hundred different results, only to suspect that either Dave or Buster is simply toying with you. The sobering reality of prayer is that I am not in control of it. In a way, I am so grateful for this. If I was in charge of prayer, nobody I love would ever suffer. None of my friends would ever lack for anything. And nobody in my social circles would ever have the opportunity that comes with pain.

In the span of 48 hours I have seen the unhealthy foundations of someone’s belief system show signs of cracking. I have seen a physician get goosebumps on his arms when he gives the report that he simply does not understand how the prognosis can be turning towards positive. I have seen the walls in relationships temporarily come down. I have seen the beauty that comes from mixing tears of joy and confusion.

In short, in my current circumstances, which I would not wish on anyone, I have seen the growth that can only come through pain. Not just a “I fell of my bike and scraped my knee” kind of pain. I mean the kind of pain that makes it feel like you got punched in the gut. I mean the kind of pain that makes your whole body shake uncontrollably. The kind of pain that can only be felt when you recognize how small you are, and how little control you actually have.

For my part of the story, I spent the first two days of the crisis looking for ways that God would intervene. Shortly after getting the first unbelievable phone call, I felt the unmistakable impression that this story would not end with death. From that point forward, my mind shifted to doing my best to comfort my family while vigilantly standing guard like a watchman waiting to see whatever God might do to turn things around. My wife and I called some of our closest friends, small groups, and family. We asked them to pray over specific needs and then had the pleasure of watching God start to answer them.

I still don’t know why God answers some prayers and not others. I still have many things on my prayer list that have not yet been answered and I don’t know if they ever will be. I know there are no magic levers we can pull like a cosmic vending machine to get what we want, and we cannot manipulate God into giving us what we want. But what I have experienced this week, during my crossroads moment, is that of a loving and present God who hears the cries of those in pain. I have experienced the love of a God who is supremely in control, so I now know more confidently that I don’t have to be.

And as for me and my house, we will serve that God.