Believe For Me

The oncologist has said from the beginning, a year ago now, that because the type of cancer I have is so aggressive and so “angry,” that chemotherapy may not work.  And that because the chemotherapy would be so brutal, so powerful and so toxic, that I may not survive it.

So when I find myself sending urgent messages to her in the middle of the night, practically begging her to please start chemo as soon as possible, it’s because I have become completely desperate.  As the cancer spreads like a raging wildfire throughout my body, the searing pain has become so excruciating, so totally consuming, that I cannot bear it for one more second.  For several weeks I think, surely this the last day.  And I cry out to God, begging Him, please let this be the last day!

Thankfully, the oncologist prescribes pain meds, and when I send her a message again in the middle of the night, begging for something stronger, she responds without delay.  For the past year, she has been my enemy, the voice of doom and gloom and no good options, but suddenly, with one quick stroke of her pen, I love her! 

The next few days after my urgent message to the oncologist, there is a flurry of activity:  bloodwork and scans, getting a port surgically implanted (because the chemo drugs are too toxic to go into my veins), checking my heart to see if it is strong enough to withstand the powerful chemo drugs, verifying insurance information and signing consent forms.  The days are a blur of pain, mental fog and drowsiness from the narcotics, and sleep-deprivation.  I barely remember any of it.

The first chemo infusion is on a Friday, and by Sunday, the terrible side effects I had been warned about kick in fill-force.  Nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, mouth sores, difficulty breathing, insomnia, and long strands of hair falling out every time I brush my hair.  And still, I am begging God, please let this be the last day!   

I had wanted so badly to face this with courage.  I had hoped that my faith would be so strong, so unwavering, that nothing, not even this, could weaken it.  That my hope and my joy would withstand these terrible, awful circumstances, and that everyone who sees me would be amazed and inspired to put their hope in God too.  That somehow, God would be glorified in this.

But it’s not like that.  Not at all!  With each new day of increasing and unrelenting pain, I am frustrated and angry that God is ignoring my prayers.  In the middle of the night when even a few minutes of sleep is totally elusive, I just sit in the chair that I have barely moved from for weeks, sobbing and moaning, crying out into the darkness, God where are you?  If you are good, why are allowing this to happen to me?  This just feels cruel.  Why aren’t you doing anything?  Hello?  God?  Are you even listening at all?  The faith that I had hoped would get me through this is completely gone.  Empty.  Not one drop left.

There is a story in Luke 5 of a man just like me.  He was just lying there on his stretcher, unable to help himself, unable to get to Jesus.  His situation was impossible.  He was without hope, most likely wondering why a good God would allow this to happen to him.  Thankfully, though, he was not alone.  His friends were right there with him, carrying his stretcher, seeking creative ways to bring him in and lay him before Jesus.  

And when Jesus saw their faith . . . he said to the man who was paralyzed, “I say to you, rise, pick up your bed and go home.”  And immediately he rose up before them and picked up what he had been lying on and went home, glorifying God.   And amazement seized them all, and they glorified God and were filled with awe, saying, “We have seen extraordinary things today!”

The amazing thing about this story, is that it has nothing to do with this man’s faith.  He didn’t necessarily believe that Jesus would heal him.  He wasn’t particularly strong or brave or full of unwavering hope. Any faith that he had at the beginning was most likely completely gone. Empty.  Not one drop left. 

But did you notice?  Jesus saw, not his faith, but he saw their faith, the faith of his friends.  The ones who were bearing his stretcher, the ones who were carrying him.  And when Jesus saw their faith, He chose to act.  He chose to speak.  He chose to heal.  It was because of their faith that everyone who saw was amazed and glorified God and was filled with awe.

And it’s the same with me.  During the past few weeks, it is my friends and my family and my neighbors and my church family who are bearing my stretcher, carrying me to Jesus when I am incapable of getting there myself. Every time someone prepares a meal for my family or drives me to an appointment or takes care of my children, that person has become my stretcher bearer.  

When my long-time friend of more than 20 years spends the night on my couch, knowing full well that she will be woken dozens of times to help me find some momentary comfort.  When my sisters travel all the way across the country to love and support and encourage me.  When my close friend from my Small Group stops by to check on me nearly every day, helping brush my daughter’s hair or fold a load of laundry or peel oranges – things I can no longer do by myself.  When people from near and from the other side of the world donate funds to pay for someone to clean my house.  When a friend who is drowning in her own deep grief stops by to see me after she gets off of work, bringing me fizzy drinks or making me smoothies.  With every act of kindness, with every volunteer sign-up, with every personal sacrifice, these are the ones who are bearing my stretcher.

And during the past few weeks, it is my friends and my family and my neighbors and my church family who are believing for me, Believing when I am unable to believe for myself.  Every time someone prays for me and my family, texts me a promise from God’s Word, sends me an encouraging sermon or podcast to listen to (since I can no longer attend worship services at church), or shares a song that reminds me to press on, he or she is believing for me.  

When the pastors and the elders at my church lay hands on me with oil.  When church friends gather outside my house on a Sunday afternoon to pray that I would find healing.  When I receive an email from a friend, saying, I have prayed for your [prodigal] son many times over the years.  And I want you to know that I will continue to do so in your absence from this life.  With every heart-felt prayer, with every word of Truth spoken over my life, with every expression of faith in the goodness and power of God to act, these are the ones who are carrying me to Jesus.  The ones who are believing on my behalf.

Just like the story of the man in the Bible, the amazing thing about my story is that it has nothing to do with my faith.  I don’t necessarily believe that Jesus will heal me.  I am most certainly not strong or brave or full of unwavering hope. In fact, my faith is mostly depleted.  I have nothing left. 

Thankfully, though, God sees, not my faith, but He sees your  faith, the faith of my friends.  The ones who are bearing my stretcher, the ones who are carrying me.  And when God seesyour  faith, He may choose to act.  He may choose to speak.  He may choose to heal.  It will be because of your  faith that everyone who sees will be amazed and will glorify God and will be filled with awe.

To my friends and my family and my neighbors and my church family… please do not give up on me!  Although the worst of the pain began to subside a few days after chemo started, the side effects of the chemo are every bit as “brutal” as the oncologist said they would be.  (She is my enemy once again.)  The chemo will continue, not for weeks, but for months!  And even if the cancer goes away, it has been so invasive that it may have caused some long-term or permanent nerve damage.  This journey towards healing will most certainly be a very long and slow one.  

And there is absolutely no way I will be able to endure it alone. I am pleading with you:  please keep loving and supporting and serving our family.  Please keep being right here with me, carrying my stretcher, seeking creative ways to bring me in and lay me before Jesus.

And most importantly, please have faith for me.  Pray for me when I cannot pray for myself.  When I am unable to believe, I need you to believe for me.