“…the pestilence that stalks in darkness (Conclusion)”

Well, no, of course I wasn’t just going to stop everything, pray some imprecatory prayers over my girls’ wittle heads and believe that God would miraculously deliver us.

But what I did need to do was stop acting as if this trial was somehow some aberration in God’s plan for me, as though all I needed was to get out of it as fast as possible so I could get back to my real life.

This was my real life. And nothing that’s really important about it had changed.

God was still God.

I was still His child.

And He still loved me, as much as He ever has in any other moment. Which is to say, as much as He loves His own Son.

And it those things were true, then I had to conclude that this trial itself was an expression of His love for me. There was nothing I was supposed to be doing, from which this trial was keeping me. This was what I was supposed to be doing. And as mundane and isolating and, frankly, gross as it was, if this is what God was sending to kill more of my self and give me more of Him, then I needed to receive it that way. Not in a “Whee, this is better than Disneyland!” kind of way. More of  a “Lord I believe. Help my unbelief “ kind of way.

So I stopped praying for this season to end,  and started praying for grace to make this season matter:

Grace to not give up…

Grace to know when to ask for help, and from whom…

Grace e to help the girls, and me, see this as an opportunity to learn extraordinary things about God,even in the midst of unpleasant and really ordinary circumstances…

And He gave it.

Over and over and over again.

We discovered poetry.

I didn’t (always) freak out (hugely, or out loud) each time I discovered the wretched insects were back.

I was comforted by the empathy of women who’d gone through it too, and, well, instructed by the attitude of those who (obviously) hadn’t.

I became thankful for the ordinary mundane-ness of chores like laundry and bath nights.

There were even moments, sitting out in the summer sunlight and combing through my daughters’ hair for the umpteenth day in a row, that felt more like worship than some Sunday morning services.

And if that’s not grace, I don’t know what is.

Now I’m not going to lie – it was still, to this day, the toughest season I’ve gone through so far as a mother. It was tough enough that I’ll spare you the long wearying story of how long it took, or the different things we did, to manage and, finally, praise God from whom all blessing flow, get rid of the wretched plague. It was tough enough that you may have noticed I’ve used what feels like an entire thesaurus of synonyms and euphemisms for our “little problem” because I just couldn’t bear to type the words for the longest time.

And I’ve not been so spiritual about this whole thing that my stomach no longer lurches every time I see a daughter’s finger go near her scalp, or that I’ve pretty much banned my girls from going to the movies (those cloth seats are major infestation sources), or that I don’t shudder in fear as I look at all the dressup clothes in my youngest daughter’s classroom. But, I can now honestly say this:

There are far bigger trials than lice.

Do you know what a miracle of grace it is that I can say that and mean it?  Six months ago, getting rid of this plague was the focus of my whole world.

So I’ll just say it again.

There are far bigger trials than lice.

There are financial trials, and real health trials, and marriage collapses and wayward children, and all manner of relationship crises that seem just as interminable, just as hopeless, and accompanied by a whole lot more suffering than endless laundry and a little social stigma.

But God took that relatively small trial and used it to teach me some very big and very good things about God, things that I never would have known apart from it. And so, as strange as it may sound, I’m thankful for it. Not that I don’t regularly pray that it never, never, never happens again. But still, I’m thankful.

And that’s a miracle.

And if God can do that kind of a miracle in and through my little trial, then He can do it in and through your trial, big or small.

You will not fear the terror of the night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness,
nor the destruction that wastes at noonday.

A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.

You will only look with your eyes and see the recompense of the wicked.

Because you have made the LORD your dwelling place
— the Most High, who is my refuge—
no evil shall be allowed to befall you,
no plague come near your tent.

For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.

On their hands they will bear you up,
lest you strike your foot against a stone.

You will tread on the lion and the adder;
the young lion and the serpent you will trample underfoot.

“Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him;
I will protect him, because he knows my name.
When he calls to me, I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble;
I will rescue him and honor him.
With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.”

Psalm 91:6-16 ESV

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