I was hit with something in the summer of 2020 that took me to one of the most challenging places of my life. On the morning of July 7, it felt like there was something in my eye. The next morning found me at our family doctor, and then on to the ophthalmologist (eye specialist). The diagnosis? Shingles on the cornea of my eye. It soon spread to the left side of my face and head, and within two weeks the lights went out—literally. Exposure to light of any kind triggered intense head pain that was unlike anything I'd ever experienced.
I lay motionless in the darkness of my room for the next five weeks with no lamps or screens of any kind (TV, computer, phone). The slightest movement of my eye ignited brain freeze pain that felt like my head was about to explode. At one point my wife feared I was having a brain aneurysm and rushed me to the hospital. She ground my food for several weeks because the pressure of chewing skyrocketed the pain. Every day was like the day before: unbearable pain.
Then, in the sixth week, there was a small improvement and I began to move around a bit. It was slow because I was still very weak and sensitive to light.
When I was finally able to function with a degree of normalcy, several asked if God had taught me anything in the darkness. The answer was no. It was all I could do to just get through the next five minutes…then the next five…and the next five. Nothing heroic or spiritual.
Then one morning after I’d made it back to the land of the living, I was reading one of Peter's letters in the New Testament, and these words jumped off the page:
…knowing that you were not redeemed with perishable things like silver or gold from your futile way of life inherited from your forefathers, but with precious blood, as of a lamb unblemished and spotless, the blood of Christ. (1 Peter 1:18-19)
If I really understood what Jesus had done to redeem me—that my redemption hadn't been purchased with something cheap like silver or gold, but with His very life—I would never again feel God owed me a thing. People had been praying for me, yet from where I lay I wasn’t sure it had changed anything. Had God let me down? Did He owe me answered prayer? Is that what my faith was based on? Should I be mad at Him because He didn't do more and let me suffer? Should I stop believing in Him?
And then it hit me. If I said I was entitled to answered prayer—or anything else for that matter—then I'd be saying the cross wasn't enough. His resurrection wasn't enough. My imperishable inheritance of eternity in heaven wasn't enough. I still deserved more.
Even as I write these words, I feel an overwhelming sense of shame that after all He's done, I would ever think it wasn’t enough. He's already gone the distance and paid the ultimate price. I’ve been redeemed by His grace, am a child of the living God, have an eternal inheritance awaiting me, and live every day immersed in the love of my heavenly Father. Anything more is gravy, and while I love gravy, if I never get another drop, He's already done more than enough.
Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen. (I Timothy 1:17)
Are you good on this? I hope so. Because if you’re not, you’ll live with a chip on your shoulder and end up missing the incredible life God has for you in His story between now and the grave.