How Does God Do It?

It's 4:30 AM as I write this, and I've been awake most of the night. My heart is feeling incredibly heavy and my thoughts are racing.

Last night, we saw that our dog's tumor has about doubled in size from last week, and it's starting to break through the skin. She doesn't seem to be in a lot of pain at this point, but all through the night I could hear her licking at the wounds. Last night I even saw her nibbling at her belly, so I know it's becoming incredibly uncomfortable. So this morning I need to make that horrible call to our vet.

What's killing me is that her mind and personality are still as bright as ever. She brought me her toy last night and wanted to play (though that lasted only one toss). She snuggled up to me while we watched some TV. She was excited when Margo and the kids got home from Worship Team. In many ways, she's going on as if nothing is wrong.

So I've been laying awake all night wrestling with how I'm supposed to know when it's time to end her life. I certainly don't want her to suffer. But I feel this terrible guilt over having to make this decision... and it's been nagging at the back of my mind all week.

I've tried talking to God about it as I lay awake in the dark. But, to be honest, those prayers haven't offered me any comfort because all I've done is raise questions and heard only silence in reply.

How does he do it? How does God become intimately involved in the lives of billions of people that he has created and loves with immeasurable passion, and in his sovereignty appoints the times of their births and the times of their deaths. I read Psalm 139:15-16 and know that God is with us from beginning to end. But how does he cope with the grief on such a cosmic scale?

I've come to hate the word "cancer" in a fresh way this year. And my hatred for Death has only grown. Death is an enemy. Death is the result of the sin of mankind; it's our moral failures that introduced this judgment into God's beautiful creation, bringing with it the sadness and the goodbyes.

Oh, I know that Death is already defeated. I cherish the promises of 1 Corinthians 15:50-57, and I celebrate that Death's sting gives way to the victory and the hope of life everlasting through the Lord Jesus Christ.

But today -- here and now -- my heart aches with that bitter sting.

Later today, many of our friends will gather in memorial of a woman in our community who surrendered to the sting of death following a 12-year struggle with depression. Her surviving friends and family have to walk through the extraordinarily painful task of moving on without her, and coping with the aching sense of emptiness that her death leaves behind. As a Pastor, I've shared that journey with many families over the years. Though I always feel privileged in trying to offer the compassion and perspective of Christ during those days of grief, there's always a time after the funeral is done, after everyone has left the graveside, when I'm finally alone with my own thoughts, that I struggle with this private hatred of the inevitability of death.

Oh, I long for the day when the promises of Revelation 21:3-4 become a reality -- when history is finally at an end and paradise is restored, when there will never again be any grief, when we will never have to say goodbye to those we love.

But today is not that day. Today I am laying awake contemplating saying goodbye to this beautiful furry friend that has become such a precious part of our lives. Yes, I know it's a small grief compared to the much greater sorrows being felt by families all around the world. Yet is the grief that sent my wife to bed last night in tears, that has kept me awake asking questions of God all night, and that will likely break my heart before this day is through. I realize the vet may tell us to wait just a little longer, and I will certainly treasure any extra hours we may have with our dog. But the lingering specter of the inevitable is weighing heavily in our home this day.