Miles of Courage

As a skin pathologist, much of my time is actually spent looking at the “holes” my diagnosis. The most crucial point in my review of a case is often the first 10 seconds when I ask myself 3 important questions: “what is this,” “what else could this be,” and “what am I missing.” “What am I missing” captures my blind spot as a physician and diagnostician. It represents the uncertainty and unknowns of the case, that could make or break the diagnosis. Failure to visualize this blind spot (and to get a good assessment of how large it actually is) every time could result in an incorrect diagnosis and even harm to the patient, in spite of best intentions.

“What am I missing” captures my blind spot as a physician and diagnostician.

Uncertainty is uncomfortable. And most (some experts would say all) of us in medicine struggle with it. We have a hard time wrapping our minds around “I don’t know” for starters, after 8+ years of medical training. It’s also challenging to tell a patient who has now seen 4 or 5 different providers, desperate for answers from an acclaimed expert or specialist, $5000 later, “I don’t know.”

Literally, no one likes uncertainty. Not healthcare providers. Not patients. And not even those of us who are followers of Jesus. I certainly don’t and chances are you probably don’t either.

If I am honest, much of my grief and heartache in life have actually been related to situations involving people or matters dear to my heart that just feel… tenuous at best. Uncertain. And unsteady. And unstable. That uncertainty today may represent a close relationship that feels upside down most days. Or trying to make life plans while facing very real financial obstacles. Or holding one’s breath with a sick loved one, praying that illness will abate. Or debating if the heartache of the current job is still worth the security it is supposedly bringing. Anyway you examine things, a sizeable degree of uncertainty seems to underscore much of the hard stuff in life. My family and I find ourselves in one of such moments now, and it seems to grip every cell of my heart most days.

So often, my preference in these spaces is to fast forward. Get to the end, the resolution, the closure, the diagnosis and then the next thing. But the more I sit in the discomfort of this space, the more it hits me: but He has allowed it. It’s painful to accept and admit that a Good God, would allow us to be in these uncomfortable and uncertain spaces. And I am left wondering if maybe, just maybe, uncertainty may actually be a holy invitation from our Creator.

What if it is less about getting through? And more about abiding here? What if it was less about the ending … and this painful process of the uncertainty, the vague middle, mattered most to Him?

What if uncertainty, though unexpected, was actually a gift? The gift?

What if uncertainty, though unexpected, was actually a gift? The gift?

If so, then perhaps this too, can be made holy. Or maybe it always has been holy. And maybe the beauty God is creating from what feel like ashes does not have to come after everything is burned to the ground; maybe it can start right here in the mud beneath your feet. Maybe this unstable twilight zone may actually be unencumbering, the space where we shed the layers that have held us back in Him, an important transition into a deeper intimacy with Him. And feeling helpless might allow us to soak, soak up His transcendent rest. And being limp, might usher in a much needed slowing.

I don’t know why God allows these spaces in your life or mine, but He must deem them important and maybe even necessary for the beautiful stories He writes for all of us. Perhaps then, there is power in not wishing this space away, but occupying it well.

If you find yourself recoiling from circumstances in your life that have pulled the rug out of under you, and tomorrow feels painfully uncertain, I invite you to come and stay with me a little while longer in this dreadful space. Over the next series of posts, I hope to unpack and unlock the gift that is uncertainty and the few things I am learning as I seek God’s heart and Word for me, for us, in this space. Won’t you join me? Remove your shoes and dig your toes into the raw earth beneath you and stay, with Him. This space, with its isolation, its longing, the questions, can be beautiful, not just for where it is leading us, but for the sole purpose that He is here. Because He is here. And since He is here, yes, this too, can be holy ground. This too can be a space of worship.

This space, with its isolation, its longing, the questions, can be beautiful, not just for where it is leading us, but for the sole purpose that He is here.

With love,

Ifeoma