If... Then...

The other day I came upon a Facebook memory from 2 years ago. It was a post about my girl cleaning the pool while Mike was in the hospital.

There is so much unsaid in this one post.

First, that our bodies itched to do something, in spite of our tiredness from recovering from COVID. (If you've ever had COVID, you might have some idea of the prolonged lethargy following it.)

It was surely a coping mechanism to try to stay busy to stave off worry and anxiety.

Second, that we aimed to alleviate Mike's own anxieties by taking care of his usual tasks. At the time, he fretted, almost daily, about all the things he had to do or had left undone. The girls and I tried to take care of all these things, including the actual running of his business (that required us to learn all manner of things we did not know) and yes, doing his chores for him.

There was a resulting pride in our ability to do so: "Look what we can do!"

And a loving reminder to him: "This is our way of taking care of you."

And of course, "We just want you to get well."

Third, that we were intent on keeping the boat afloat until Mike could return to us. We imagined this to be a temporary situation for all of us.

And last, that there was an implicit negotiation with the universe:

If we were good...

If we were helpful...

If we were humble...

If we were kind to each other...

If we worked hard...

If we didn't complain...

If we were hopeful...

If we were gracious...

If we were grateful...

If we kept this boat afloat...

If, if, if...

...Then he would be well again.

...Then he will return to us.

Our isolation from others was surely physical, but it was also mental.

We kept negativity at bay. Actively. We forced our thoughts only in one general direction and refused to think of "what if's". We verbally reminded each other that everything was alright. That everything was going to be alright.

There was a fragility to our bubble. It was held together by our intentions to overcome our anxiety with a hopeful calm. By our held-in breaths. Our earnest prayers.

This post reminds me of a time when we felt that we still had everything to hope for.

It makes me sad to think about how things took a turn for the worse just later that evening, 2 years ago, when Mike had to be intubated.

But it also reminds me of how we collectively doubled down on our If's while hoping all the more for at least one happy Then.

Truth be told, I am amazed at our hopefulness during this time. At our failure to quit on Then.

That said, what is almost undetectable during this ordeal is a subtle change to our Then's.

I don't know when or how, but the follow-up to all our If's became:

...Then all will be well.

And soon enough, as surely as God was guiding us through this time, we shed our "If... then's" and simply prayed: May all be well.

There came a time when I realized that one cannot negotiate with the universe. Or God.

That our expected outcomes are never guaranteed, no matter how hard we try to manipulate them.

There simply was no telling, as Mike went from bad to worse... to bad... to worse again.

We knew that there will have been a resolution in the end, but none of us could really predict it. At least, not for those who of us who believed in miracles.

I, for one, would never deny the possibility of miraculous healing. But more than anything, life has taught me to believe in -- no, to expect -- deliverance.

And deliverance may come in the form of relief from suffering. Or as an answer to a question that had been hanging over us.

Deliverance, really, is simply the end of one thing and the beginning of a new thing. A period followed by a carriage return.

A new paragraph.

This is not to say that I lost hope. Simply that I hoped for something different: a new paragraph. And soon.

An end to my beloved's suffering, in whatever form.

An end to the rollercoaster ride that tore his body (and our emotions) apart.

An end to the tension that had seeped into our bones.

All the while hoping and praying: May all be well. No "If...then's". Just faith in as soft a landing as our Lord could provide for all of us.

And because He had already been where we were headed, it was.

May it be so for all the paragraphs left in our story.