The Ringing You Can Not Hear
It had been over three months since my nine year old was told he had an inoperable brain tumor. He had spent many days in the hospital already. He had lost his balance. He had been seeing in double vision. Regained his sight and lost it again. He had gone through 8 weeks of radiation treatment.
I was amazed at his attitude and resilience. He was focused on doing what needed to get done so that he was ready to play basketball again in the winter. He had a goal to help motivate his daily grind. He had done everything he was asked to do.
He was a warrior, a trooper. He was kind yet fragile. I could not help but wonder how I would feel when I was a child if it was my body breaking down? My heart was broken, but my body was not revolting against me like my son’s.
In the blog post last week I referenced having to go get Josiah’s hearing tested. When he first admitted to hearing ringing in his ears, I was devastated. He had suffered for months and I was completely ignorant of his suffering. What else had he endured that I did not know? What else was he keeping from me?
I knew it was no fault of his in keeping this information from me. I never asked him about his hearing. What should a nine year old reveal about his ailments? He hated the attention his struggle to walk and see gave him. He hated that he could not fully use his left hand. He hated he could barely swim. Why would he bring another issue that he knew was just another problem we could not solve?
He was right.
I could not stop this ever present ringing. I took him into a testing facility. He submitted himself a battery of tests. He was diagnosed with another disorder by another doctor. Nothing changed. There was nothing else to do.
He was frustrated by the lack of progress. But he journeyed on. There was just another obstacle I could not remove. The doctors, nurses, and medical professionals told him of hope and gave him more assessments. But he was only marginally better than before with incredible effort. Why would anyone expect him to tell me of something else gone wrong?
I could not help. Medicine could not help. We were in a horrific loop of helplessness.
Why cry out? Why ask for help? Why add just one more problem to the pile?
He was also wrong.
I care more about him than what I could fix. I loved him more than what I might be able to do from him. I wanted to be with him. I wanted to suffer with him. I needed to know so that I could give what we could not control to the only One who I trusted. I wanted to share the darkness with him to know he was not alone.
Loneliness is a disease that one person alone can never change. We were near him physically. I was still out of work so someone was close by him all the time. But I could only be as near to my little man as he would let me in.
He was nine. Intimacy was not something he could really grasp. He was just a child.
How about us? How alone are we in our heads? How many issues do we struggle with silently not allowing others to be with us? It is not how many people are around you but how many people you let in.
Who knows you? Who knows what really makes you happy? Who knows about a pain that will not just go away? What are you keeping to yourself because you know there is no one who could fix your problem?
So we choose to suffer alone. Before you know it, you are alone. We hide inside our inability to let others know the truth of our weakness. We avoid the intimacy we crave because we feel unworthy to be embraced the way we are. We think, “If they really knew about it, they would never really love me.”
Courage must proceed the quest to slay the dragon called loneliness. Can the dragon really be destroyed? Do you believe you have the weapons or the skill to wield an attack? We feel the weakness in our knees as we see the steady smoke rising from its lair. We smell the defeat that surrounds our best past efforts to reveal our true hurts and weaknesses. The great leviathan mocks our best attempts while not even moving a muscle.
True courage is not attacking the beast yelling and screaming. The secret is in a little conversation with a trustworthy person telling them a bit of the truth behind what you believe they cannot help you conquer. They probably will be unable to heal your wound, release your chains, or forgive your deeds. But you will find that when the words are spoken to the right person the dragon takes flight.
You are free to journey to wholeness with the power and light of others.
Josiah was loved. Sometimes he suffered alone. But he was courageous. Most of the time he knew we were there. He would cry. He would scream. He would ask why.
He allowed me inside his heart. He would let me know what was on his mind. So he equipped me to love, to pray, and to cry. His love still helps me today. He was not alone and neither was I.