Dear Friends,
Since Hugh’s diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes, I have had a restlessness. An uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. A sense that words were trying to escape my lips, but I was squeezing my lips tight and refusing to let them free. I could not exactly tell you what those words were or why I refused to speak them. But now I know. It’s a simple word, really. A simple word that I could not utter.
Hallelujah.
In other terms, praise God.
Let me explain –
Our family was driving in the car recently when Hugh asked me what the famous movie Steel Magnolias was all about. (For those of you who did not grow up in the South, we women reference Steel Magnolias at least once a week. It’s as sacred to us as our family Bible and Junior League Cookbook.) As I was about to launch into why it was possibly the best movie of all time, I froze. What should I tell him?
Well, son, it’s a movie about a girl who has Type 1 Diabetes – like you. And a mother who loves her children more than she loves herself – like me. And well, the girl dies before her time. Because of her diabetes. And it breaks her mother’s heart.
How can I tell a 7 year old all of this?
So as I sit silently in the car, trying to think of something to say with tears streaming down my face, the song “Hallelujah” begins to play on the radio.
“Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord”
The lyrics begin to chase after me and I find myself silently screaming “No, no, no! I refuse to say Hallelujah. I will not, I cannot praise God for something as awful as diabetes happening to my child. My lips are closed. I will not allow those words to pass through them.”
And there it was. I had finally named it. Hallelujah was the word trying to escape and I had been fighting it for almost three years.
I wasn’t refusing to say it just for myself. I was refusing to say it for all the mothers and fathers out there who did not receive the good news they were hoping for. I refused to say it for the child who does have cancer, for the wife who just lost her husband, for the awful prognosis that a loved one only has weeks to live.
Every time I would hear someone say “Hallelujah – the tests came back negative. It’s not anything to worry about”, I would think “No, no, no. Hallelujah for you maybe. But there’s no hallelujah for the one whose test results came back positive.”
I felt that for every Hallelujah spoken into the universe there was crying on the other side. For every person rejoicing in good news, there was someone receiving bad news. When a mother would say her child was healed from a sickness, I would think about the mother whose child was not healed. It just didn’t seem right to say Hallelujah when I have seen the pain and I know the suffering.
I just couldn’t say it.
Until one day, when our family was on a hike in the mountains – a hike that we did not realize would be quite so long or quite so strenuous. As we see the end of our hike approaching and a much needed place to get warm and rest up ahead, the kids both shout out “Hallelujah!”
And it that moment, it was as if the fog had lifted and the words could finally be set free.
“Hallelujah – we made it!” I laugh with them, and as we collapse on a bench I realized I didn’t need any big hallelujahs in my life. All I needed were these moments – and I had been having them all along.
For the warm place to rest after a 3 mile hike.
Hallelujah.
For the laughter of friends around a kitchen table.
Hallelujah.
For the babies shared between arms.
Hallelujah.
For the noise of breakfast dishes and morning conversations as the jelly and syrup are passed around.
Hallelujah.
For the coffee cup and spoon set out the night before.
Hallelujah.
For the hands that still want to hold mine from time to time.
Hallelujah.
Dear friends, I am not saying that we should rush around finding Hallelujahs in everything we do and in every circumstance. I’m still not at a place where I can praise God for Hugh’s diabetes and I’m not sure I ever will be. But what I’m saying is there are Hallelujahs all around us.
We just have to wait for the fog to lift so we can see them.
As we begin a new year, friends, will you make a promise with me? Let’s promise that we will say Hallelujah for those who cannot right now. Let’s say it loud and strong, realizing that there are many around us who are squeezing their lips tight.
That’s ok. We can say Hallelujah for you until you can say it again for yourself.
The fog will lift. The words will come.
Hallelujah.
Sweet Sally, I am so glad that you found your “Hallelujah”. And that you can offer Hallelujah for others when they are unable to say it. Our Father will guide us thru. Years ago while going thru an extremely difficult time, I was angry at God, couldn’t pray. Crying, I shared with my friend my feelings and that I couldn’t pray. She gave me a wonderful gift. Taking my hand, she said until you are able to pray, I will do your praying for you, just tell me what you need to pray for. So i would call her and ask for specific prayers. Month or so later, something happened, and I automatically, said, “Thank you, Jesus”. As soon as the words came out, warmth spread thru out my body. I knew one again, I could pray!! A Hallelujah moment. You and your sweet family are always in my prayers.
Thank you, Jackie! It is comforting to know I’m not the only one who has gone through this!
Thank you, Sally.
I promise.
Thank you, Debbie!
You bless my heart over and over again. I’m thankful to Rexie for sharing it because somehow I missed it. This is one of your best. Please keep sharing your journey with us; it helps us all!
Thank you for the encouraging words, Linda!
Dear Sally, I love you because I love Rexie! I promise! I love that you shared this revelation with us! Hallelujah! HALLELUJAH!!! Praying for others is one joy The Lord has given me:). I am praying for your dear Hugh and you. God bless!
Thank you, Pam! It is so wonderful to hear that others are praying for us!
Sally, thank you so much for sharing this with us. I suppose all of us have had some of those times when God had to listen to the quiet moanings of our heart.