Big Boys Do Cry after All: Faith Reflections from a Cancer Oven (#5)
[A note from our Managing Editor: Tim Shorey, pastor and author, is one of our Gospel-Centered Discipleship staff writers. Tim is also currently battling stage 4 prostate cancer. On Facebook and CaringBridge, he’s writing about his journey. We’re including some of his posts in a series on our website called “The Potter’s Clay: Faith Reflections from a Cancer Oven.” To preserve the feel of a daily journal rather than a published work, we have chosen not to submit these reflections to a rigorous editing process.]
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Big Boys Do Cry after All
August 18, 2022
Reader Beware: (with my wife Gayline’s permission) raw emotion about how I’m really doing is straight ahead.
As one of the bigger boys around (there’s over six vertical feet, and around 250 increasingly horizontal pounds of me) I’ve re-discovered in recent time that big boys do cry after all. I admit that hardly a day goes by when I don’t cry. I’m not saying I’m a blubbering mess, although I have been a couple of times. But I have weeping moments every day, moments when I’ve had to gather in my tearful sorrow, or to let it flow, depending on the context. I’m lamenting.
Lament has been a common if not trendy topic of late. And as a called preacher of God’s Word I’ve never liked “spiritual” trendiness. It feels like spiritual treason to me, a dabbling in the popular more than a devotion to the true. Nevertheless, I do know my Bible well enough to know that tears play a major role in biblical God-honoring faith. Without even looking, I know that we are to weep and mourn over our sins (Matt. 5:4; James 4:8–10). I also know that Jesus cried over the death of a loved one (John 11:35) and over a city that would not repent (Luke 19:41–44). Indeed, his life was so full of grief that he became known as a “Man of Sorrows” (Isa. 53:3).
Paul cried over the spiritual condition of Israel (Rom. 9:1–3), over the sensual condition of the lost (Phil. 3:18), and over believers who needed to be admonished to get their life and doctrine in order (Acts 20:29–31). He also was prepared to feel “sorrow upon sorrow”, had a co-worker died as it appeared was going to happen (Phil. 2:27). And finally, the early church lamented intensely over the death of one beloved servant-leader (Acts 8:2) and over the departure of a pastor-apostle (Acts 20:36–38).
It would take volumes to write further of ancient biblical sages, prophets, and poets who tear-drenched virtually all their writings. In fact, one whole book of theirs is simply called, “Lamentations,” while another reminds us that God is the one who appoints times to weep and mourn (Ecc. 3:1, 4, 11).
But this isn’t a teaching moment. It’s a living one. I am a weeping man. When asked how I’m doing, it’s seldom long before the words “I’m very sad” come out. And often they’ll be moistened by tears. I’m not ashamed of this, for God is the one who made tear ducts after all—and encourages me to use them (Rom. 12:15).
The truth is that I can feel the tears in my innermost parts. They flow through my veins and fill up both my head and heart. My spirit groans.
I don’t want to believe my doctors’ grim prognosis. But I have to take it seriously, lest my denial keep me from grieving with, and comforting those I love. I don’t want to accept that I’m likely to be gone in three and a half years (unless God heals). But I must. I’m open to happy surprises—and pray for them in faith that God can. But I have no interest (or comfort) in a pretend whomped-up faith that says, “O I just know I’m going to be okay!” For no. I do not know that, and neither does anyone else. And despite thousands of believing prayers by many, it hasn’t happened.
God can spare me, of course, but medically and statistically speaking, I’ve got what, maybe three to four Christmases left? And how many of them will I be healthy enough to enjoy?
How many of my grand-kids will even remember me beyond a vague recollection that they once had a Granddaddy the size of a mountain.
What will I be able to do? Will I ever have another truly vigorous moment? Will I ever preach a full-strength (or length) sermon again? “But Lord, you’ve given me something to say! And on some things I was just getting started!”
“Lord, I know that you always get done what you want done through our lives, and will complete what you have started (Phil. 1:6). But from my vantage point, unless you intervene, tasks will be left undone, ministry will be left incomplete, saints will be left in grief, many will be left confused, and kids and grand-kids will be left with but a vague memory.”
And saddest of all, Gayline will be left behind and alone.
We were sixteen and seventeen when we met 47 years ago, and are coming up on our 45th wedding anniversary. But now, let’s be honest: it’s almost certain that we’ll not hit 50.
Gayline and I have not known a single day of adult life without each other. But now, unless God spares me, she’ll likely know a couple decades of adult life without me; with me as but a memory. I won’t be there with her and for her. I won’t be holding her hand, kissing her goodnight, and saying, as I always do when she turns over to sleep—“Good night. I love you! I can’t wait to see you in the morning!”
O, I will see her again on that eternal Morning. And that will always be our blessed Christian hope! But I’ll not deny it: this big boy’s crying a lot these days over all the mornings between now and then when she’ll be left alone. This is my sorrow upon sorrow, a sorrow almost too much to bear.
Rest assured, family and friends: I am weeping in hope. My lament is neither a failure of faith nor a cry of despair. I am full of faith and full of sorrow at the same time. I know my God is able to heal, and I am secure in his everlasting love. But there are reasons to think that he very well may not heal. And I cannot communicate the heart-aching sadness of it all. Words cannot express it. And advice cannot reach it. The night of weeping is ever-darkening. And I’m a vessel so full of tears that any slight emotional twitch or nudge will cause another overflow today. It already has.
O Lord, help.
* You can read all of the posts in this series here.
Tim Shorey is married to Gayline, his wife of 44 years, and has six grown children and 13 grandchildren. In his 41st year of pastoral ministry, he helps lead Risen Hope Church, in Delaware County, Pennsylvania. Among his books are Respect the Image: Reflecting Human Worth in How We Listen and Talk; 30/30 Hindsight: 30 Reflections on a 30-Year Headache; and his recently released, award-winning An ABC Prayer to Jesus: Praise for Hearts Both Young and Old. To find out more, visit timothyshorey.com.