Our family has chosen to….

I am reading “When God doesn’t make sense” by James Dobson. When I came to this story written by Dr. Jim Conway, I read it with tears in my eyes. I can relate to so many things he said.

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When our daughter was 15 years of age, she began having trouble with one of her knees. For a year and one-half, she saw doctors, had laboratory tests and scans, and tow extensive biopsies on the tumor they found. We waited for weeks for word from the many pathology labs around the United States who were studying her mysterious lump. Finally one evening our physician came to our house and gave us some very distressing news. He said that Becki had a malignancy and that it was necessary to amputate her leg. I refused to believe it. I was determined to prevent this surgery by praying until God promised to heal her.

“You are not going to have your leg amputated,” I told Becki. “I believe God is going to do a miracle. He said we could come to Him in times of trouble. I am absolutely convinced that you are going t be spared this surgery.”

Our church then began a 24 hour vigil of fasting and prayer. Thousands of people around the United States and overseas were praying for Becki’s healing. On the morning when the surgery was scheduled, I said to our physician, “Scott, as you go into the operating room, please verify that the cancer has been healed. God is going to come through. I am sure.”

He left and did not immediately return. Forty five minutes went by, and still, Sally, my other two daughters, and I sat in the waiting room. An hour passed, and then two. I began to realize that a lengthy medical procedure must be in progress. Then the doctor came out and told me that they had amputated Becki’s leg. I was absolutely shattered. I was crushed. I lost God. In anger, I was beating on the walls of the hospital and saying, “Where are You, God? Where are You?”

I was in a state of shock and wandered down to the morgue in the basement of the hospital. That’s where I felt I belonged, surrounded by death. I was dealing with more than Becki’s surgery, as terrible as that was. I struggled to handle the theological implications of what had happened. I could not understand why God permitted this to happen. You see, if I had been a plumber instead of a pastor, I would have gone out to fix pipes the next day, and my spiritual confusion not have affected my work. But my job required me to stand before people and teach them the principles of the Bible.

What could I tell them now?

If I had been a liberal pastor who didn’t believe the Bible to be literally true, I could have survived by doing book reviews and talking about irrelevant stuff. But I pastored a Bible church. My style of teaching was exposition of the Word, reviewing it verse by verse and drawing out it’s meaning. How could I go back and tell my people that God had let my daughter lose her leg? It was a terrible moment in my life.

As I sat outside the morgue that day, a friend found me in the bowels of the hospital and came to my rescue. He was a Godsend to me! I’m not part of the Charismatic movement, but it was Dick Foth, an Assembly of God pastor, who stood by my side and cried with me and prayed for me. He said, “I’m not worried about Becki. I’m worried about you. There are a couple of thousand people in your church and a thousands elsewhere that who are hanging on for you. Your going to get through this.” Then he and two other guys took turns working with me. One would go for a coffee break and the others would take over. They just kept me talking- letting me spill out the frustration and the anger.

They didn’t condemn me even though I was so angry at God. At one point I said, “I think He was so busy finding a parking spot for a little old lady that He didn’t have time to save Becki’s leg.” Dick would listen and say’ “Is there anything else you need to say?” I didn’t have to worry that if I said something disturbing, maybe these guys would doubt God. I didn’t worry about them giving up on me. I didn’t have to hold anything in and say “I’ve got to keep up the professional front because I am a preacher. I’ve got to be good.” They let me deal with the pain.

When a person is going through this kind of terrible depression, some believers don’t know how to respond. They say’ “Ill pray for you.” which may mean, “I’m no longer really listening to you.” That can be a way of ending one’s responsibility to shoulder the load. In fact, when it comes to bearing one another’s burdens, the secular world sometimes does that job better than we do. They know the importance of letting resentment and anger spill out, whereas Christians may feel they have to hold it inside. The Scriptures tell us, “The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them. He delivers them from all their troubles” (Ps. 34:17)

It also bothered me later when people began offering simplistic explanations and flippant comments to “cheer me up”. It was irritating when they quoted Romans 8:28 “all things work together for good,” when they had not earned the right to brush off my pain. I wanted to say, “Tell me about it, Charlie, when your 16 year old daughter’s leg is amputated. Come back when you’ve gone through something like this, and then we’ll talk again.” Sometimes we get so used to the “cheer up” mode in Christianity that we become unreal. I almost heard people say to me in those days, “Shhhhhhh! Don’t say those things. What if God hears them?”

As if God didnt know what I was thinking and struggling with! God knew what I was going through and He understood my passion. My love for my daughter originated with Him in the first place. So who would I be trying to fool by covering up the agony of my soul?

I remember a guy I saw in a restaurant a few days after Becki underwent surgery. He was sitting at a table, and as I walked by he reached out and grabbed my coat. He said, “Jim, I think God has allowed this to happen because it has brought about a revival in our church.” I said, “So what is God going to do to bring another revival to when this one passes, chop off Becki’s other leg? Then her arm and her other arm? There isn’t enough of Becki to keep any church spiritually alive, if that is what it takes.”

When you start reaching for puny answers like that, it dehumanizes those who suffer and insults our magnificent God who loves and cares for the oppressed. I couldnt explain why Becki had to lose her leg, but I know the answers being given were not right.

Probably the most important think I learned in this entire process is this: I became deeply aware that there were only two choices that I could make. One was to continue in my anger at God and follow the path of despair I was on. The other choice was to let God be God, and somehow say, “I don’t know how all of this fits together. I don’t understand the reasons for it. I’m not even going to ask for an explanation. I’ve chosen to accept the fact that you are God and I’m the servant, instead of the other way around.” And there I left it.

It was in that choice that I came to cope with my situation. I frankly admit that after all these years, I still struggle with some things. I still get sick to my stomach when I see my daughter hopping on one leg. But I have come to recognize that God has a higher purpose and I just don’t understand that purpose. I am prepared to wait until eternity to receive answers to my questions, if necessary. Like Job, I am now able to say, “Though he slay me, yet I will trust in Him.” (Job 13:15)

It’s either despair, or it’s the acceptance of His sovereignty. Those are the alternatives.

Let me say it again. It’s either despair, or it’s God. There is nothing in between.

Our family has chosen to hold onto God.

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That brought me to my knees. It put into words how I am feeling and have felt for so very long. It describes my heart and my choices.

Our family has chosen to hold onto God.