Shipwrecks and Battlefields

“How we handle the shipwrecks in our lives will determine whether our lives become a tragedy or comedy. We can’t control what happens to us. But we can control our response.”

--Mark Batterson, Wild Goose Chase, Chapter 6: Page 123

In the moments after my husband told me that our son had been killed in a car wreck, I heard the Spirit of the Lord whispering to me. In the midst of my cries, my screams, I heard God say, “If you allow him, Satan will use this to destroy you, your marriage, and your family.”

Brandon’s death was not the first shot fired in my spiritual warfare; however, it has definitely been the loudest.  It set off a battle within me that I will probably wage for the rest of my life. Cease fires may come, but I don’t think they will last… not until I take my final breath and enter Heaven.

Like a bullet ripping through flesh and muscle, this tragedy has been and continues to strip away the many outward layers of my faith, driving deep to see if under all there is anything of real substance. 

What do you believe when your greatest fear becomes a reality?

How do you stand when you feel that your faith, your God, has let you down?

These are questions I wrestle with every day.

Time moves forward, and others, though they may not forget, don’t remember, not every day, not like I do, not like my husband does. Every single day, we wake up and we remember. Every single day, we think about the absence of our son; we think about what could have been; we think about what ifs.

This is what Batterson calls a shipwreck in our lives, a place of devastation and loss, a place where I might remain stuck forever. It’s more than a detour. My ship was smashed to bits and left me on a deserted island in the middle of a war.

But even still, there is one thing that cannot be taken away.

My choice.

I have a choice in how to respond. I have a choice in what, or should I say Who, to believe.

This is where the bullet meets the bone. This is where the pain lodges and sticks and finds resistance.  Does any of this make sense to you? Maybe you are fighting a similar battle yourself.

Unlike Batterson, I don’t contend that life is either a tragedy or a comedy. I think that our lives are a grand hodge-podge of all. Even soldiers tell jokes on the battlefield. Even comedians cry. Instead, I think life is a great love story. In my mind I picture a black and white World War II flick.

I am injured; the slug burns in me.

The enemy continues to attack.

The war still wages, and I fight on.

The Savior is near and has my back.