Journal

It is after 2:00 in the morning.

Tonight I find myself at a place where I honestly feel like nothing works anymore.

I cannot fix anything.

I cannot fix my wife’s eyes.

I cannot instantly solve our financial problems.

I cannot fix people problems.

I cannot fix church problems.

I cannot fix medical problems.

I cannot fix what Joe Richey is facing.

I cannot fix what John Lafleur is facing.

Some days I am not even sure I can fix myself.

The house is quiet except for the sound of Leisa crying softly beside me because her eyes hurt so badly that she cannot sleep.

We have tried Systane. Refresh. TheraTears. Refresh PM ointment. Every new bottle carries a little hope, and every time I quietly pray, “Maybe this will be the one.” Yet another night comes, and here we are again.

Last Friday, the eye doctor examined her and said she is producing tears. During the examination, the numbing drops brought relief for almost twenty-four hours. It was such a gift. She rested. She smiled. For one brief day, I thought maybe we had finally turned a corner.

Then the pain returned.

Restasis is sitting there, but she is afraid to use it because she has read so many stories about burning eyes during the first weeks. When you are already living in constant pain, the possibility of making things even worse is frightening.

The hardest part is not the medical problem itself.

The hardest part is watching the woman I have loved for so many years begin to lose hope.

I would gladly take this pain if I could.

I cannot.

For most of my life, I have been a problem solver. Engineering taught me that if I studied hard enough, worked long enough, and refused to quit, eventually there would be an answer.

Life has reminded me that not every problem has an engineering solution.

Some burdens cannot be repaired.

Some can only be carried.

Tonight all of the burdens seem to be arriving at once.

The business weighs heavily on my mind. Every financial decision matters. Every invoice matters. Every opportunity matters. I worry about our future and the people who depend on me.

Church brings its own burdens. I care deeply about God’s people, but people are complicated, and sometimes the shepherd feels just as wounded as the sheep.

Then there are those I care about who are hurting physically. Joe. John. Others whose names are on my heart tonight. I wish I could make them well.

I cannot.

The truth is that I have reached the limits of my own strength.

Perhaps that is exactly where God has wanted me all along.

I keep thinking about Jesus in Gethsemane. He did not pretend the burden was light. He poured out His heart before the Father. Yet in the end He entrusted Himself completely to the Father’s will.

Maybe that is what faith looks like tonight.

Not having answers.

Not fixing everything.

Not pretending everything is okay.

Simply remaining.

Remaining beside my wife.

Remaining in prayer.

Remaining faithful.

Remaining in hope, even when hope feels very small.

Lord, tonight I place Leisa into Your hands.

I place this business into Your hands.

I place Joe and John into Your hands.

I place this church into Your hands.

And finally, I place myself into Your hands.

I cannot carry all of this.

But You can.

So tonight, I will simply trust You enough to make it through one more night.