God with Us: Finding Immanuel in Our Toughest Trials

We should’ve been doing normal things in a normal week. But, on this atypical Tuesday, here we were with our healthy, sixteen-year-old son, Shane. Our jaws dropped open at the urologist’s one-two punch: This isn’t an infection; it’s cancer, and it needs to come out. Now.

Just three days earlier, Shane had bravely disclosed his pain to me. In “mom-mode” response, I resolved to fix this—because that’s what moms do. Further absorbing the details, however, I keenly sensed my own weakness and bent to my knees in desperation, praying that God would guide us and be with us—whatever “this” was. 

From day one, he was. There “happened to be” weekend openings at both our doctor’s office and the imaging department. The ultrasound was read that week and surgery scheduled. As our story unfolded, the promise of Scripture personally held true: even when we’re not snatched from the storm, God is with us in it.[1]

At Christmas, we celebrate the glorious arrival of Immanuel—God with us.[2] But this promise of God’s presence isn’t limited to one specific time of year—it’s available all the days of our lives, whatever we might face. In our deepest valleys as moms, our great Immanuel is:

With us in our decisions.

The decision to proceed with my son’s first surgery was easy. The tumor needed to be removed, and then next steps could be determined. But pathology revealed that the cancer was the kind you didn’t want. Furthermore, his tumor was fully comprised of two subtypes—the fast-growing one and the unresponsive-to-chemo one. 

Painstaking choices now had to be considered—every decision viewed through the lens of potential future repercussions for our child. After much prayer and deliberation, we ended up choosing a second, higher-risk surgery with a rigorous follow-up plan.

Decisions abound in motherhood; some are quick and obvious, like the first surgery. Often, though, they feel like the second surgery—with the weight of the world to consider. This side of heaven, we’re continually making decisions by faith for our family. God is with us as we pray and consider everything from allowing our kids to participate in traveling sports and birthday sleepovers to making life-altering choices for their health and future.

With us in our unknown wildernesses.

Cancer wasn’t new to my family, but childhood cancer was. This was uncharted territory. My husband and I desperately wished it could be us in our only son’s place. While life kept spinning around us, the time warp of simultaneous grief and medical management felt overwhelming. But, just as God was with Hagar and her son when they were cast into the wilderness, he was with us.[3]

He provided grace from others. Shane’s football teammates stayed by his side, church elders and friends came to pray, loved ones watched time tick by with us in waiting rooms, co-workers covered for us, and our executive pastor was there when my pastor-husband and I needed a pastor. And, since our family all reacted in unique ways, on fragile days, we could lean on one another.  

Similarly, God provided grace for others when they compared trials or offered unsolicited tips. He enabled us to see that every “wilderness” bears similar yet different nuances, and we can engage others compassionately in that. Each infertility story is similar—but different. Every loss of a loved one is similar—but different. Every left-out recess story is similar—but different. God will be with us as we seek to both endure our own trials and comfort others in theirs. 

With our kids and loved ones. 

The morning of Shane’s longer surgery, we again clung to his side. The reality that we’d need to hand him off to others and step aside while they stepped in loomed dreadfully. When our time came, though, God sent nurse Rachel. A mom herself, she let me walk with them as far as I could and even shed her own tears over my handing-off tears. She, a gift from God, would be with my son through the entire surgery. 

When we’re spread paper thin, God is also with our children and families. Trials often require an immersion of our time and resources, yet other loved ones—caught between pausing their lives and carrying on enough to maintain grades or jobs—still need us. By God’s grace, we can notice and respond to needs yet recognize our inability to meet them all. In our human mom-limits, we’re not omnipresent and able to fully serve everyone at the same time. But God is. Everywhere. All the time.

With us in the pending, sad, and good.

Visible scars and hidden remnants linger from this season in my family’s life. Though the chapters of our son’s story closed in healing, the book will never go out of print in our hearts. Most cancer stories remain untied with a pretty bow. Even in healing or remission, threats loom. Chemo, radiation, and surgical sites can cause new issues, and follow-up appointments arouse anxiousness. 

But Christmas. God is with us in the pending labs, in the sadness of elevated tumor markers, and in the good news of normal numbers. The pending, the sad, and the good in all of life are met in Jesus Christ. It’s in remembering this that our families can endure every trial. 

When Joshua was assuming leadership after Moses’s death, the Lord reminded: “I will be with you, just as I was with Moses. . . . Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:5, 9). The truth that God is with us—wherever we go—is one of the most critical for our families to grasp. He is with us at the new school, at the tryouts, in the lonely weekend, and amidst the daily hard stuff. 

So, in our trials, may we never forget Christmas. The pending news of a world waiting for the Messiah was answered in him, the sad news of our sin was met head-on in him, and the good news is him. Immanuel reigns over cancer and every cancer-like intruder that will invade our lives. And, friend, he reigns over your struggles and sorrows today too.

[1] Isaiah 43:2

[2] Matthew 1:23

[3] Genesis 21:8-21