Almost two years ago, I found myself bearing more weight than I ever imagined I could handle. My wife Bailey was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. As you can imagine, this news was crushing to our young family, and the only way I knew how to deal with it was to try and bury the fear that crashed over me, moment after moment. I ran from the feelings of pain, hurt and sorrow. I tried to repeat the “positive” thoughts, scriptures and platitudes that I felt obliged to say, even if I did not believe them on a heart level or feel them to be true.

The longest days of my life turned to the longest weeks and months of my existence. With each moment that passed, my fear and hurt grew, to the point that I could no longer quote that “God works for the good of those who love him” or some other common biblical or spiritual refrain of the goodness that accompanies pain and suffering. I began to dread going to sleep, knowing the nightmares I would regularly encounter. Even more unsettling than bad dreams was the thought of facing another day burdened by this new, ever-present pain and sorrow. My alarm would ring, and I would feel the crushing weight of the day’s duties crashing into my room. Dragging myself downstairs in the morning felt like a monumental task. Small decisions, like scheduling doctor’s appointments, routine “day job” responsibilities, or what someone should pick up at Costco for me suddenly seemed as complicated as a lunar landing. I tried to bottle up the anger I felt toward God, but inevitably it would spill out in irritable interactions and tear-stained journal entries. 

I could no longer hold my self-constructed mask of hope in place, and the sorrow and burden of my wife’s sickness that pushed her to the brink of physical death was too much to bear. I saw the pain on my childrens’ faces and was hurt to see them tearfully ask, “If God is in control, why is Mommy so sick?” Their questions echoed my own: why me? Why my wife? Why do my daughters have to wonder if their mom will live, why her hair is gone, and why they cannot be around her? I felt like I was owed answers, and the silence gave me permission to embrace bitterness and withdraw from God.

One morning, as I was grinding my coffee with tears streaming down my cheeks, facing the dread of a new day, I begged God to bring relief for my hardened heart. I had reached the end of myself, exhausted from the unanswered questions and wondering whether they’d bring the relief I was hoping for even if they were to be answered. And so I didn’t ask for an explanation, or for Bailey to be healed, but instead just asked for his presence. For his Spirit to draw near and to feel God’s nearness, to stir my heart to his love and bring peace in the midst of so many hard questions and in the midst of even harder circumstances. The Lord pierced my heart, broke through and held me near. It was the start of a slow crawl down an immensely painful road, but was the first step in holding both hurt, pain and sorrow with hope, peace and nearness to God. 

In the weeks that followed this cry to God, things continued to get worse for Bailey’s health. After a traumatizing trip to the ER, I began to develop suffocating panic attacks and anxiety that I had never experienced before in my life. As I cried out to God constantly, I kept wrestling with how this crushing situation could be for my good, or anyone’s good who loved and cared about Bailey. 

But then God began to answer our prayer for healing. Bailey showed a slow but steady recession of cancer. In fact, Bailey’s doctors were so confident in the results, we had a party to celebrate that her cancer was gone! It was a beautiful evening where we stood before family, friends, colleagues and medical workers to share our gratitude to each person present and to rejoice in God’s goodness, even in the midst of the pain. Her medical team was so confident, they even supported removing her port that she needed for treatment. Yet, a week after her party, where we shared our testimony and praised God for sustaining us and healing Bailey, we learned that Bailey’s cancer had returned and was in more places than before. 

In the weeks leading up to this, God was working in ways I did not see or understand at the time. Psalm 73 was part of my reading plan, and I found myself reading this passage multiple times per day. At the end of the week, when we found out the devastating news about the cancer’s fierce return, the feelings of fear, anger and hurt rushed back. Questions of how could God allow this AGAIN began to resurface and invade my thoughts. This time I knew that returning to that same place of bitterness would leave me broken. 

God used Psalm 73 to show his love and compassion, that he is trustworthy and gracious. The psalm of Asaph served as a tremendous model of grief, confusion and hurt. It also functioned as a framework and language for the feelings I only had begun to understand. Injustice, brokenness and pain constantly surround us and at times overwhelm us. It became a prayer for my experience and walk with Christ over the last 2 years of Bailey’s disease. 

Like Asaph, I personally experienced and believed in God’s goodness. Then tragedy, suffering, pain and sorrow invaded my life and crowded out my relationship with God. Satan accused me, God and my beliefs in the midst of such deep pain. I never imagined I could have such suffering and still be alive, and not have left my faith. Like Asaph, I openly question the peace, prosperity and comfort that the wicked experience, and I challenge God that my obedience has been for nothing. I hide my face from him, and create distance from God. On the outside saying the right things, but on the inside questioning all parts of my faith. I am ashamed of my questions and feelings of resentment. Why can’t I force myself to be OK and to stop asking hard questions of God? I continue this cycle and withdraw from God. Asaph models this breaking point in the Psalm by writing:

16 But when I thought how to understand this,

    it seemed to me a wearisome task,

17 until I went into the sanctuary of God

In God’s grace, the Father does not leave me in my anger. Instead, He draws me back in the midst of my resistance to his love and grace. I become too weary to understand and handle the questions. The fear, hurt, loss and sorrow seem overwhelming. But He continues to draw me into his presence and his sanctuary. This turning point was painful, but brought a deep relief and peace. The weight of trying to understand is exhausting, but in God’s presence we are offered rest, and a safe place for our deepest pains. 

Asaph also pointedly describes my disposition and status with the bitter soul:

21 When my soul was embittered,

    when I was pricked in heart,

22 I was brutish and ignorant;

    I was like a beast toward you. 

Being accurately described as “brutish and ignorant, like a beast” towards God was not a pleasant realization, but it was the start of healing and peace. Even in that beast-like state, God pursues us and draws us to his presence. God is faithful when we are faithless and forgetful. Sometimes, it is reasonable to forget, but God does not forget or neglect us in this hour of need. He entered into my misery with grace, love and compassion. 

Returning to God’s sanctuary with authenticity allowed me to experience him in new depths and realness. I could enter into his presence broken, bitter and like a beast, and I was welcome. God does not ask us to come put together, but only to acknowledge our deep and very real need for a savior, fully dependent on him. Just like God could hold Asaph’s questioning, God handled all my feelings, questions, doubts, pain and hurt. Not dismissing them, but with gracious love pointing out that he is God, I am not. Authentic dependence on him requires faith that sometimes leaves hard questions unanswered. 

My prayer in these moments has often been along these lines: 

God, I’m angry, exhausted, hurting and I doubt you. Why is life like this? Please help me to have courage and boldness as I enter into your sanctuary. To trust that you see, know and love me. That you are involved in this awful suffering and are working it for your Glory. Help me to believe in my heart that this misery is being redeemed for my good. Examine my soul, and show me the doubts and insecurities. Help me to be honest with myself and you, while drawing me to you. Help me to acknowledge the depths of my hurt and that you can handle it. To have a clear understanding of my desires, disappointments and how my tendency is to be a beast and withdraw from you. 

God has answered this prayer, time and time again. He has not answered our prayers of healing, but he has answered my prayer to see and know him. To discern what is in my heart, and the brokenness I have. To not let shame or embarrassment hold me back from entering into his presence. In his presence I have found comfort, peace and love. My fears rise each day, but God has quieted my soul countless times. The hurt and feeling of being out of control have been used by God to illuminate the ways that I doubt him and do not rely on him, and to develop an authentic and deep reliance on him.  

The last two years have brought new levels of loss, hurt and fear. Ones I had never imagined. But each phase of this process, God has held me close and continued to care for me. Not once has he turned his back. Even when I felt that he had, God showed himself. 

God is continuing to use Psalm 73 to mold and shape my response to disappointing news. When Bailey’s cancer returned again, I found that the process to return to God’s sanctuary was slightly easier. Returning as a beast, with the waves of questions and hurt was still deeply painful, but I returned to Asaph’s example of humbling ourselves before a loving God. He has demonstrated himself so clearly through the depths of the latest waves of hurt and pain, that it felt somewhat logical and familiar. Almost starting to be muscle memory, or a well-worn path. Not only am I not alone on the trail, but I’m comforted by those like Asaph who have walked it before me and given me the words to pray.

Joel Wilpitz lives in Louisville with his wife, Bailey, and three young daughters. He enjoys live music (especially Dave Matthews Band), working with people, basketball, drinking coffee, and smoking meat.