Setbacks

A Disheartening Turn for a Hopeful Bride

There is a unique and unexpected pain that accompanies a setback—especially when the setback occurs during a season that is expected to be joyous and fruitful.

My wedding day was beautiful. Like many starry-eyed engaged couples during the COVID-19 pandemic, Devin and I didn’t want to wait until social distancing restrictions were lifted to make our commitment to each other before God. We were eager to start our life together and move to Pennsylvania for my new job while he continued seminary online. After a few days of prayer, we elected to get married in the backyard of a beautiful property in the rolling green hills of the Great Smoky Mountains in Tennessee, United States. Our mothers prepared the food and made me a grocery store bouquet. Surrounded by just a few close friends and family, we made our vows to love one another, in sickness and health, no matter what may come. It was quaint, elegant, and the perfect picture of heaven on earth.

As Devin and I drove away from our intimate ceremony together, we held hands and watched as the sky turned from bright blue to the soft pinks and oranges of a spring sunset. My heart glowed as I contemplated future possibilities with my new groom.

About two weeks later I woke up on a Sunday morning with a sharp pain in the lower left side of my abdomen. I attributed it to the stress of the festivities a couple weeks prior, or maybe even some bad food the night before. As the day went on, the pain intensified, and I realized it wouldn’t quell with a couple of at-home remedies. After some back-and-forth and a few quick Google searches (which I don’t recommend, by the way), my new husband and I made the trip to our local walk-in medical clinic.

I still remember how the room felt when I got the phone call. A nurse on the other end of the line broke the news that I had an eight-centimeter cyst on my left ovary, and I would be referred to the emergency room right away. The ob-gyn, Dr. Bennett, chose not to operate that day, but asked me to come back in a few weeks. The words “screen for cancer”and “oncologist” came out of his mouth, but I was too dizzy with worry to be sure if I really heard them. Just a few weeks after our sunset drive, Devin and I faced one of life’s hardest questions together: How will I respond to pain when it crosses my path?

When Pain Shapes the Path Forward

I wish I could tell you that I faced this particular setback with grace and courage. Ideally, I would have recalled the lessons of my youth, and turned to God for comfort, putting my trust in the ultimate Healer to be near me. Instead, I became bitter and unhappy. I turned myself inward, instead of upward toward God. For almost a year I hardly recognized the young woman in the mirror. What I’d hoped would be a time of newlywed joy and bliss was a season of pain, loss, and anger. I was mad at God, mad at my circumstances, and angry with myself for what I thought was a deep personal lack. The hormonal changes in my body didn’t help either. I felt stuck, and my new husband was also deeply affected by my pain. To be honest, I sank into a season of depression, and while it was certainly understandable given the circumstances, the hope I found next would’ve been beneficial to my spiritual journey if I had turned myself toward God’s tender voice sooner.

What I’d hoped would be a time of newlywed joy and bliss was a season of pain, loss, and anger.

Just a few months after my initial visit, Dr. Bennett recommended that we remove my ovarian cyst laparoscopically, a fairly minor operation, all things considered. He assured me that there was almost no chance the cyst was cancerous, but he would need to do a biopsy while I was under just to be sure. I was so angry that this was how the first few months of my marriage had gone. It felt like social media mocked me with pictures of happy, healthy couples and women who weren’t grappling with potential cancer or fertility scares mere weeks after college graduation. The weight of my situation felt too adult, too big, too much to bring to the feet of Jesus with vulnerability and hope.

Depression can put the mind and body into a cruel cycle. The body is so fatigued that it can’t convince the mind to do even such basic things as get up out of bed when the alarm rings in the morning. I had many mornings when I decided that unkempt hair and pajamas were good enough to report to my off-camera remote job. Food, which was once a source of nutrition, energy, and connection with loved ones, became a menial task. And when I didn’t have to force myself to eat, I ate entirely too much sugar and processed food with the hopes that it would comfort me. I looked for comfort everywhere: in long nights in front of the television, in other people’s affirmations, and all the short-term places that didn’t bring the sustained fulfillment that Jesus pours out on us when we simply ask.

A Cry From the Wilderness

The operation was successful, and I can still see the relief wash over Devin’s face as the ob-gyn assured us that there was no possibility of cancer. We were through the worst of it, but I was exhausted. It felt as if I had fought 20 wars in two months. As the pain started to dull, I felt ready to face God again. Just as the disciples asked Jesus, in Mark 4, “Don’t You care about me, God?” I cried out to God in that same desperate tone, angry that He wouldn’t hear my cries. I assumed that a setback was evidence that God wasn’t near me.

Have you ever felt angry with God when life didn’t go your way? Elijah sure did. In 1 Kings 19:4, after a long day’s journey in the wilderness to flee Jezebel, he declared to God, “It is enough! Now, Lord, take my life, for I am no better than my fathers!” Elijah fell asleep, only to be awoken by an angel of God twice.

“And the angel of the Lord came back the second time, and touched him, and said, ‘Arise and eat, because the journey is too great for you’ ” (1 Kings 19:7).

The journey was too great for Elijah on his own, and my setback was too much for me to handle all on my own, too.

The journey is too great for you. When I read that verse for the first time, it struck me like lightning. The journey was too great for Elijah on his own, and my setback was too much for me to handle all on my own, too. Finally, after almost a full year of neglect, I reignited my personal time with the Lord. I understood what He needed to tell me in Elijah’s story. God doesn’t promise that we won’t have setbacks. The world is full of sin and cruelty, and people have the freedom to choose to hurt us. I can’t explain the genocides, pandemics, loss, and devastation that seem to run rampant across our globe. What I do know, though, for certain, is that we have a Father who loves us, and wants to draw near to us when the inevitable setbacks of life occur.

The One Who Holds Us Through Setbacks

Our setbacks don’t define who we are, but they can speak volumes about who we will become. Sometimes in our faith communities I hear the words “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” I think these folks mean well, but I vehemently disagree. In his letter to the Corinthians, Paul urges the early church to rely on God when the burdens of life are too difficult to bear.

“For we do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, of our trouble which came to us in Asia: that we were burdened beyond measure, above strength, so that we despaired even of life. Yes, we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves but in God who raises the dead” (2 Cor. 1:8, 9).

We will always face more than we can handle. That’s the whole point of the gospel—we are not enough on our own. We need a Savior, and if we didn’t experience setbacks, we wouldn’t always rely on Jesus’ death on the cross. God is not the author of our pain and setbacks. He isn’t cruel or vindictive. God doesn’t haphazardly dole out punishments just so we will have no choice but to turn to Him. In fact, it’s the very opposite. He’s a loving Father, waiting for us to ask for help when the storms of life surge and we’re left in the middle of the sea with no life raft. He is the ultimate helper, comforter, and friend. He holds our pain delicately in His hands, and there is always room for us to choose Him openly.

“And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope. Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us” (Rom. 5:3-5).