I’m not sure I’m even prepared to write this yet. I have tried several times to put into words what has transpired in the past 6 weeks. I had prayed for and believed for three people to be healed of different types of cancer and last week the final one passed away.
I’m a bit numb as I was thought this didn’t have to be the case. They certainly didn’t pass away for lack of faith to believe they would survive.
The first one found out he was ill and in less than two weeks later he passed away. I actually what I will call embarrassed myself with the Lord praying and laying hands on him. I knew I had done everything I could to try to usher in healing. Failed.
The second one was a yearlong battle with cancer and again I did all I could with the tools I had. I prayed for, believed for, laid hands on her, and brought her to a prayer meeting for others to pray who were more “advanced”. I did not waver in my faith. And she too lost her life. Failed.
The third one I watched more from a distance but prayed for and believed for her healing and witnessed many others lay hands on. This one’s attitude really had me, she was going to beat this thing. She’s gone now too. Failed.
When the second one passed away I was in disbelief as I simply almost without emotions asked God, “Why did she die?” I’m not naïve enough not to know medically the cancer took over her body, but I asked like, “Why (I don’t get it) did she die?” And His answer was, “She’s at peace now.” In typical style when I don’t get the answer I was looking for from Him, I thought well okay that is nice but You did not answer my question. And then later I was thinking about His response. And maybe in reality He did answer my question. Maybe she would not be at peace until she passed. She had lost her only son to suicide a year and a half earlier and it, too, like the cancer had eaten her up.
There are so many factors that go into a person’s life and death that it is impossible to know on this side of eternity the full story. All three were Christians so I am assured from God’s word they are all at home in Heaven with Him. It simply leaves the rest of us who are left behind to sift through the pages of His book for answers.
When I was growing up my dad was distant. He was always in the house but never really engaged with us as a family. As a little girl I wanted nothing more than to be daddy’s little girl and it always eluded me. He often sat in front of the television and didn’t speak night after night. But then of course when he did speak it was worse as he would yell and scare us into submission. I used to beg God to make my daddy love me. I could never figure out why my dad didn’t want to know me and why God wouldn’t or couldn’t make him. Failed.
It would turn out that I had bipolar disease. I would not know that anything was wrong really as I only knew what I knew. What I mean is if I would sometimes be happy or sometimes be sad, well wasn’t that just life? I remember all through my childhood contemplating suicide. I never told any of my friends or family this as they never talked about it and I wasn’t going to be “different”. And I knew I would never have attempted suicide, no if I was going to go to that level, I was going to be successful if I did it. Year after year I would think about ending my life as a way to console myself. And I had it in my mind when I turned 18 and moved out of the house my problems would be over as it was my belief the lack of my father’s love was behind all of my sadness. I moved out at 18 and realized I just took all my baggage with me. Failed.
I would turn out to have panic attacks just before I turned 19. Back in 1980, it was during a time when no one had ever heard of such things as it was just beginning to be recognized in the medical community. I finally out of desperation talked to a counselor. She helped me tremendously. I learned I stuffed emotions and like a pressure cooker this is how they were coming out.
I always knew my father had spinal meningitis when he was 18 and it almost took his life. I would find out much later in life that He was left with epilepsy and would be on a drug the rest of his life to help prevent seizures. This drug caused depression and that is what was behind his ternary of angry outbursts and lack of engagement in his family’s life.
Looking back on it now, I say my father’s depression saved my life. See if I would have had the picture perfect childhood I would have wanted and still had periods of deep depression what would I have blamed it on? His depression kept me going with the thoughts of moving out at age 18 and being free. Even though I learned that did not work out as planned and I ended up with panic attacks I met a wonderful counselor who would help me in ways she never knew I needed. She was an older (under 30), put together lady, who bummed cigarettes from me (you could smoke in the office’s back then), she was confident, and for the first time in my life I opened up to someone. She was a Christian too now that I think about it.
I have had to rethink the things that I called “failed” at the time. They were just threads of a much larger picture. By themselves trials don’t look good or feel good for that matter. But like on needlework they don’t look good from the backside but the final tapestry is a work of art. I suppose it would be true the more beautiful the picture the more colors and the “untidiness” it would look from the back. I have got a lot of colors over the years!
So, I dedicate this to a few people who have passed away, Robin, Kelli, Diane and my Dad. I’m trusting the big picture is beautiful as my own thread is woven in with yours.
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