When my sister-in-law Julia had her fourth baby, we were ecstatic! My three wild nephews would finally have a little sister to look after. Only weeks after my niece was born, though, Julia was diagnosed with brain cancer. When my brother told me the news, his face was determined but afraid.
I couldn’t imagine Julia gone. I couldn’t imagine what that would do to my young nephews, to my brother. I couldn’t imagine my newborn niece not knowing her amazing mama. I tried—I tried so hard—to pray, “Thy will be done.” I gained a new appreciation for the agony of Jesus’ prayer the night before He died. I didn’t necessarily want God’s will to be done. I wanted Julia to be healed.
But praying for a giant tumor to disappear was scary. What if God didn’t heal Julia? Praying for God’s will felt a little safer, whatever happened would be an answer then. I could protect my hope and insulate my faith from disappointment.
And I had been disappointed before.
My dad was diagnosed with the exact same brain cancer Julia had. He had been dead for nearly a decade when her tumor glowed white on the scan. I’m not sure what gave me courage to pray for her healing. Maybe I trust God more now, or maybe I could too easily see myself in her place.
I hadn’t even prayed for my dad to be healed.
My husband (boyfriend back then) was driving that night. We were on our way to my parents’ house when my mom called. I remember the exact curve in the freeway where the world went wiggly. My old cellphone that still had buttons on it was pushed against my cheek. Mom was trying to sound matter-of-fact and positive at the same time. But when she said, “Cancer,” my body knew the truth before I even had time to think: my dad was going to die. My head almost hit the dashboard as it fell between my knees. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t breathe. I threw up in my car.
During the weeks that followed, I only prayed for two things. Both a little selfish, I guess, looking back.
- God, please let Dad live until my wedding day.
- God, please let Dad’s brain work clearly for just a minute. Let us be able to say goodbye.
My dad and I had been dreaming of my wedding day since I was little. I used to think it was normal for dads to want to practice walking down the aisle and dancing a first dance with their nine-year-old daughters. Mike and I moved our wedding date up. We knew Dad would probably be in a wheelchair, but it felt like our last chance to celebrate with him. He had between six and nine months to live, so we planned our wedding for four months out.
Dad’s tumor blocked meaning from his words. The look in his eyes made it seem like he was trying to say something, but the random selection of slurred words coming from his mouth was impossible to translate.
God, please just give us like sixty seconds, maybe two minutes. You don’t have to save his life, but please just push back the fog. Let us say goodbye. Let us say “I’m sorry” and “I forgive you.” Let us say, “I love you.”
I kept waiting for my moment, the kind that Nicholas Sparks describes near the end of The Notebook. It never came. Dad died ten weeks before my wedding day.
WAS IT SO MUCH TO ASK?!?! TOO MUCH?!?! Would it have changed the course of history so drastically? God, I let You take my dad! I didn’t even complain! It’s not like I’m asking for a convertible. How could You deny me such simple requests?
I had pushed hope far away; I had never even asked for healing. I was happy to settle for scraps, and even those were denied me. I shook my fist at heaven and didn’t listen for God’s response.
This hurt too much. Hope, I decided, was a placebo. I was determined to never touch it again. I was deeply disappointed. God had been dangerously ineffective (I didn’t want to be forced to admit this), and life is unfair (it’s hard to keep living with this in the front of your mind). Nope. Not worth it. Hope should come with a warning label that reads “Hedge your bets, dummy.”
And it does come with a warning label, but that label reads “Beware of counterfeits.”
We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love (Rom. 5:3-5, nlt).
There is a hope that doesn’t ever disappoint, but there’s only one—the hope that God will save us, and that He is saving us. That He will make all things right one day, and that He is making things right even now. Hope is like a muscle, and it has to be made stronger. When we experience pain, that can build our endurance. When we learn to keep pushing through even when we want to quit, it builds our character. It takes a strong character to practice hope in a dark world and not give in to helplessness or cynicism. But hope is not a sham, as long as our hope is in God. We will never be disappointed by the saving grace He offers, because He loves us. If we want to be hopeful people, we have to be ready for our hope muscle to be made stronger. That’s why Paul tells us to celebrate problems and unanswered prayers, they are building our resiliency and developing our deep hopefulness. In the end, we won’t be disappointed.
I still don’t know why God didn’t give me the two things I prayed for, but I do know that unanswered prayer is not proof that hope is a sham. It’s not proof that God is blind or uncaring. I don’t have to protect God’s reputation, and I don’t have to wall up my heart.
Paradoxically, in my hope unmet, I met hope I didn’t have to be afraid of. God is good, He loves me, and even if He doesn’t always save me from pain, He makes it count. Sometimes the best gift He can give me is not to immediately make me happy, but to ultimately make me stronger.
My friend Bronwyn Lea taught me a better way to pray, more in line with the surest hope we have: “Instead of praying, ‘God, make it better,’ I need to pray, ‘God, make it count.’”
God, Your will is bigger than Julia being healed or not being healed. You have desires and plans for what this sickness is going to do in her life, in each of our lives. God, please spare her life. God, please heal her brain. God, please let her raise her children and let her children be loved by their mother. Don’t let us be glad only after we are through this sickness and she is healed. Do something even now. Make it count.
It was a terrifying journey, one my brother would call the biggest test of faith in his life. After many tears and much darkness, Julia and my brother came out the other side saying, “It is well with my soul.” The cancer had counted. They had an unprecedented experience of the nearness of God, the love of the people around them, and the limits of their faith being met with limitless grace.
Julia went into remission, and she is still cancer-free today. She’s a glowing wife and mom who challenges me with her gratitude for each day. She knows God’s goodness can reach anywhere, and she lives her life unafraid of the dark.
~ By Liz Ditty. Taken from God’s Many Voices by Liz Ditty, Used with permission by Worthy Books, an imprint of Worthy Publishing Group, a division of Worthy Media Inc., All Rights Reserved.