I was recently doing a bible study where the author said
something along the lines of this: the Israelites waited in rebellion to cry
out to God until the last second, until they were practically “screaming for mercy1.” That phrase rolled around in my head
for a while eventually linking itself to the only time in my life where I
physically screamed out for God’s mercy.
I have been privileged to have not had to experience much
physical pain in this life, but the physical pain I have experienced has been
profound. I remember the exact moment I knew the Holy Spirit (along with Father
God and Jesus) was real.
The normal protocol for a Whipple surgery is ten days in the
ICU/hospital post-op. Being young and rambunctious, my surgical oncologist said
it would be okay to double my tube-feeding intake in half the time so I could
leave one day early.
The first night home was bliss after getting to shower (I
had had one awkward sponge bath during my nine day hospital stay) and trying to
eat some solid food (Qdoba). But the next day after the nurse had visited to
show me how to use my feeding tube, I went for a walk with my dad. My two best
friends had gotten to my house during the course of the walk and were waiting
for me to get home. I was walking in between cars in the drive-way when I
noticed a strange sensation of fullness in my upper abdomen. A pit. I
immediately went inside and went to the bathroom. What followed was an hour of
vomiting in which I literally screamed out in pain, even with my friends
sitting in the other room. I didn’t care; I was in the worst pain of my life.
The reason it hurt so bad was because I had a newly healing scar cut all the
way across my abdomen and each contraction of my stomach brought a new wave of
agony. I remember blood and other substances coming out of my drainage and
feeding tube holes. It got so loud that my dad had to gently suggest that my
friends leave while he called my surgeon. I had locked the door so I was
completely alone. Finally, I said, “Jesus, if you’re real, take this pain
away.” My sweet, little Pentacostal heart wishes that I could say the pain
ceased immediately. No, that would take another 45 minutes. But instantly I
felt something strengthen my spirit so I could endure the pain without
screaming. “Take her off the feeding tube completely,” my surgeon said. I had
screamed out for mercy and the Lord came with his mercies new every morning.
The truth is, all of us are in agony in some way and are
screaming internally, maybe even physically, for the mercy of God: and we don’t
deserve it. This Lenten season, we get to observe many scenes in the Stations
of the Cross. In Gethsemane, Jesus pleaded for a merciful alternative to the
cross. His loving Father denied him. The one God-Man who actually did deserve
mercy received it not.
As you sojourn through this 40 day wilderness, remember who
you are and who you are not, and remember who Jesus is and who Jesus is not.
We’re the ones that deserved the degrading death on a cross, the one Jesus
screamed (metaphorically) out to not have to endure. Yet we get the salvation.
Meditate on the great exchange and the unrelenting kindness of God towards us
who are sinners. Scream out for mercy and I believe you will be met by
nail-pierced hands whose Owner says, “Shalom.”
“Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows…”
(Isaiah 53:4a ESV).
1Seamless by
Angie Smith
Very well written Anna!
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