Category — Suffering

A few years ago Judy and I visited a friend during his last week on earth. His faith in Christ and hope of heaven encouraged all who watched him go home. As his body began to fail him, he referred to it as his “container”. He was in deep pain the day Judy and I were privileged to come to the side of our friend and his bride. We read Scripture, prayed for healing and comfort, and then had to say goodbye. We knew that unless the Lord intervened, we had probably talked with our dear friend for the last time and that the next time we talked to the love of his life, it would be at his memorial service.

Yet, as we were leaving, our friend demonstrated a life-lesson I’ve “lived” myself—he told us that he was going to mow the lawn!

Judy insisted that I intervene. “You can’t let him mow that lawn. Tell him you will do it for him!”

“No,” I told her, “you have no idea how much he needs to mow that lawn. If he collapses dead mowing that lawn, he will be happier than if I did it for him.”

This is one of the primary lessons I learned during my bout with lymphoma. The routine means more to those of us who feel we have been “set aside” and that we are losing our grip on our life. Some of the greatest moments in recovery are those when we suddenly find that we can do something we use to take in stride.

I remember the first day I was able to begin helping Judy around the house after my last battle with this disease. I brought in the trash bins, weeded the front lawn a little, and pulled Judy’s car into the garage from the street!

“YES,” I said to myself, “I’m coming back.”

Do you know someone who is struggling through a life-threatening or life-devastating heartbreak? Ask the Lord to make you sensitive to their need to be useful. Those of us dealing with debilitating diseases or emotional trauma don’t want to be defined by our pain. The encourager should endeavor to encourage the discouraged on their terms. Let them do for themselves and others whenever they want. It may seem small to you, but to them it’s huge…in their journey, there is immeasurable joy in what we consider mundane.

“This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:24).

Cancer Hospital Waiting Room

We’re gathered together in a room nobody wants to sit in—the waiting room of the USC Norris Cancer Center’s Outpatient Clinic. What we have in common is our deadly diagnosis, and our bandaged arms from the blood test our oncologist will read.

I remember well the first time I took my seat in this very room eight years ago. So weak I could barely walk and so embarrassed by my grotesque appearance, the emotions of actually being a cancer patient overwhelmed me. Judy had to support me—both physically and emotionally—when I tried to cross the street from the “regular” hospital to the cancer hospital.

Surveying the room this morning, I can see the despair in the eyes of the first-timers. They’re still either reeling from or resisting the idea that they belong here with people like me—people with cancer or lymphoma. They never imagined life could be so hard, so hurtful, so hopeless.

I want to tell them about the One who sits next to me today in this room of despair—the same One who sat with me eight years ago and every visit since. The One who is always with me whispering words of comfort and hope into my life.

His name is Jesus.

Your Room of Despair?

There’s no way to avoid life’s rooms of despair, the places where those who just received devastating news gather:

“We’re going to have to let you go.”

“You’re being sued.”

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

“We’ve lost everything.”

“I’ve been unfaithful to you.”

“Your child will not live.”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

“It’s cancer.”

But there is Someone who will take your hand and never let go…–especially in your room of despair.

His name is Jesus.

“I will never leave you nor forsake you.” –Jesus Christ, Hebrews 13:5