The God Who Sees to It
My son has been hospitalized at least a dozen times. He’s had three surgeries. He sees five therapists every week. Most things are not easy for him. I won’t lie: there’s a lot of hard in there that none of us asked for. I wish genetic anomalies hadn’t busted up my dreams.
Have we not all asked, “Lord, what do I do with this hard stuff? This thing I didn’t ask for?” It’s the question behind the teary conversations across steaming coffee mugs. The midnight texts blinking with the words, “Please pray.” The fragile look in your friend’s eyes that makes your heart sag. We all know hard things.
As I sat with my son during his recent hospitalization, I read the stories of Abraham and Sarah, their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren in Genesis. Like all of us, this family experienced all kinds of busted up. Yet running throughout their stories was the reminder of the One who was working through the hard to bring them his goodness.
In Genesis 17, God fulfills the promise of a son born to Abraham and Sarah, even in their old age. In Genesis 21, though Sarah banishes Hagar to the desert with Ishmael, God delivers them from death. When God says to take Isaac up on a mountain and sacrifice him, Abraham gathers his son, a servant, and their supplies to head up the mountain. As Isaac is bound on the altar of sacrifice, God intervenes, providing an animal substitute instead. Was there a collective sigh of relief on that mountain?
Then, “Abraham named that place God-Yireh” (Gen. 22:14 MSG). I love how The Message renders the original Hebrew here—instead of the traditional “The Lord will provide,” God is described as the one who sees to it. If we put these two translations together, we might get something like the God who sees to it to provide. We know how these stories end, so we know God provided. We see the promises fulfilled, the legacies lived out, the fruitfulness birthed. We know how God saw to it. But the middle of these stories—before God’s seeing-to-it was visible—those were hard places.
Consider Joseph, Abraham’s great-grandson. After being ripped from a family where he had been the favorite son, he’s sold into servitude by his brothers. Despite his new Egyptian master Potiphar becoming “very fond of Joseph and . . . turning everything over to him” (Gen. 39:2–6), he winds up in jail, for years, on false accusations of rape. Imagine what it felt like to be Joseph, stuck in the middle of a hopeless situation, through no fault of his own. His one glimmering, human chance for help, the cupbearer, after being released from jail, “forgot all about him” (Gen. 39:23).
In that hospital room, watching my groggy son recuperate from a surgery that would help him but not make him whole, I sank a little. This is probably not the last surgery, hospitalization, or hardship he’ll have. These hard days make me wonder how we’ll all make it through. Lord, what do I do with these hard things?
In Joseph’s story, right smack in the middle of it, I read this: “But there in jail God was still with Joseph: He reached out in kindness to him” (Gen. 39:20). God’s presence and kindness were probably the only things that kept Joseph sane in an unbearably difficult circumstance.
In the same way, God’s presence and kindness were my lifelines in that hospital, through that surgery, and will continue to be, no matter what we face next. Hundreds of people prayed for Reed. Our friend, a hospital chaplain, came to visit when no other visitors were allowed. The child life specialist brought Reed two brand-new monster trucks to take home. Our parents were our extra hands as we juggled hospital, recovery, and other family responsibilities. Another friend made sure we were fed our favorite family meal. These people were the embodiment of God’s presence and kindness towards us. They were Jesus with skin on.
As we made it home from the hospital, my Bible reading took me to Gen. 50:19 where, after a famine brings Joseph’s brothers to his doorstep, they are terrified that Joseph will turn on them. And honestly? He had every human right to. Instead, we see this work of grace:
“But Joseph said to them, ‘Do not fear, for am I in the place of God? As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today. So do not fear; I will provide for you and your little ones.’ Thus he comforted them and spoke kindly to them.”
I have to think that God’s kindness to Joseph in the hard places is the only way he was brought to the wide-open space of wholly and joyfully forgiving his brothers, embracing them as his family. In God’s economy, no hard place is ever wasted.
With all that I am, I believe that in his greatest kindness, God uses our hard things to soften the hard places in us. The things in us that think we’re entitled to normal and typical. The things in us that think we can’t do hard things. The things in us that give in to the relentless if-onlys instead of the relentless love of God. Through this kindness, we are made into new people with tender, grateful, courageous hearts that know we are loved and seen by him.
Dear friend, is your landscape hard and barren? Are you crying out for God? I pray that he will see to it to meet you with his presence and kindness, to carry you through the desert, and to deliver you safely and wholly on the other side, having worked out his good and kind intentions in your heart. Can you press in to his presence and look for his kindness today?
is a writer, Ann Voskamp intern, editor, and journaling instructor from South Carolina. A lover of the beach, the stars, and the lattes her husband makes, her favorite things to write about are motherhood, special needs parenting, mental health, grief, and faith. You can connect with her over at Writing Is Cheaper Than Therapy, Facebook, and Instagram.
Photograph © Riccardo Annandale, used with permission
