In God's Hands
Be Not Afraid In God's Hands
Chapter 11 In God's Hands
To all appearances a healthy baby, Ray became jaundiced within weeks of his birth, and was soon diagnosed with a rare condition: he had no bile ducts connecting his liver and intestines. Though the problem can sometimes be corrected today, it was virtually untreatable at the time (1967), and all that the doctors at Yale could tell Ray's devastated parents was that he would probably not live for more than a year. So they took him home.
Until he was six months old, Ray developed normally, though he was always a little yellow. Then he began to go downhill. First he stopped gaining, and then he began to lose weight. His belly became distended, his face pinched. As his father later said, he looked like a starving child – skin and bones, and big, wide eyes. But his siblings never noticed that, or even took in the fact that he was deathly ill; they just loved him and took care of him, and trusted that he would grow.
Be Not Afraid In God's Hands
Ray died at fourteen months, as the doctor had predicted. At the end his skin was a dark orange, and he weighed only eight pounds.
Even today, in the most scientifically advanced
country the world has ever seen – in a world of corneal and cardiac transplants, life-prolonging respirators, and powerful drugs, there is no guarantee that medicine can stave off death. That, perhaps, is the one fact of human existence that has remained unchanged since the beginning of time: our lives are in God's hands.
All of us sense this, even if subconsciously – an agnostic or atheist will cry out "Oh my God!" just as often as a believer when gripped by sudden fear, or doubled over in terrible pain. On good days, however, God quickly takes backstage. We're okay; we've got plans; we've got life in control. Until, like Ray's parents, we find out otherwise.
What does it mean to live with an awareness of our dependence on God? For Adela, a young woman I knew who was struck down with Hodgkin's disease, it meant accepting his intervention in her life even when it meant relinquishing her dreams, and refusing to let cancer stop her from looking forward to the future. Adela was diagnosed in the prime of her life, at twenty-five, and was in love at the time. Illness might
Be Not Afraid In God's Hands
have altered the picture for another couple, but not for her and Sergei. In fact, far from throwing a wrench in their relationship, it only confirmed what they already felt: that regardless of her health, her life was in God's
hands, and that there was no reason to break off their plans to be engaged and married.
I married Sergei and Adela in August 1985, and I will never forget the conviction with which they answered one question I asked them: "Will you bear with your spouse in joy and in sorrow, in health and in sickness, until death parts you?" Never had that question seemed so important and real.
Humanly, the new marriage didn't seem to make sense: it began against the backdrop of a grueling series of chemotherapy treatments, the first of which left Adela in critical condition. For the next three years, she had to undergo almost continual chemotherapy with multiple complications and frequent hospitalizations. Through it all, Sergei remained loyally at her side.
Later her specialists recommended a more intensive protocol, part of which involved a bone marrow transplant. She underwent this, too, but the benefits were short-lived. Finally she decided to decline all further treatment.
An outgoing person from childhood on, Adela never lost her sense of humor. When chemo made her hair fall out, she painted herself, dressed up as a clown and went
Be Not Afraid In God's Hands
from ward to ward, trying to cheer up fellow hospital patients. When the impossibility of having children hit home, she resisted self-pity, and suggested to Sergei that they try to adopt a child. As often happens, their
attempts were soon snarled by red tape, but that didn't stop them. Sergei even brought home a crib, and Adela prepared a layette. But nothing ever came of it.
In January 1989, after three years of marriage, Adela passed away. Shortly before, she wrote to her husband:
Please, when I die remember that I was no hero, that I
couldn't always accept God's will, that I was a sinner, that
I failed in service and love to others, that I knew despair,
depression, fear and doubt, and other temptations of
the devil. Remember, too, that I loved laughter better
than tears, that you can die with cancer but you can also
live with it and joke about it. Please don't keep things
because I made them or wrote them. They are only
earthly things and nothing special. Remember rather
that God's will has no "why?" – that his way is best,
always; that he loves us even when we don't love him,
and that in the church you never stand alone; that hope
is greater than despair and faith is greater than fear, and
that God's power and kingdom one day will be victorious
over everything…
Be Not Afraid In God's Hands
She also wrote a poem that Sergei has allowed me to print:
Beloved Sergei
you may find this as hard to read
as I found it hard to write
but I had to write it
even though it may be many years
before you will need it
I may outlive you although
I can't see how I could live without you
only God knows our hour
but if my time comes
God willing please be near
and tell me that it is the end
and ask me if I'm ready to meet my maker
and hold my hand
pray for forgiveness of my sins
and pray for peace for my soul
and I'll pray for comfort for yours
and fight for you and love you
through all eternity.
As a cliché, "live dangerously" evokes rash judgments and risks taken on a whim. But as Sergei and Adela's short marriage shows, that is not all there is to it.
Be Not Afraid In God's Hands
There is something deadening about going through life cautiously – testing the water, toeing the line. But there is nothing as exhilarating as living it to the full. It requires rising to challenges that come your way,
rather than evading them; sticking out your neck, instead of hiding in the crowd. It means daring to take false steps – and leaps of faith. And the reward, as we have seen, is calmness in the face of death.
To believe that one is in God's hands, and to draw comfort from that belief, is a gift – and not only for the dying, but for those who mourn them after they are gone. But what about those whom death overtakes without such reassurance? And what about those they leave behind, whose grief is compounded by the worry that the one who died was not ready to go? Especially in cases of divorce or separation, parentchild estrangement, and soured friendships, it is not unusual to encounter fear on the part of those who live on. Where did my ex-husband (or mother, father, son, or daughter) go? Is he with God?
Often, this fear is not limited to worries about where the dead have gone. Believers may wonder how they will fare in the last judgment; nonbelievers may fear the unknown. As a counselor and pastor, I know that far more people grapple with these questions than one
Be Not Afraid In God's Hands
might think. Naturally, none of us can speak for the dead, and even if we could, it wouldn't change a thing. God works, as the saying goes, in mysterious ways, and none are as incomprehensible as the secrets of death.
Still, there is great peace to be found in learning to put those we love in God's hands – which means trusting that he will not forsake them.
When Lisa was found in a lake near her home early one morning in June 1978, many of her neighbors were uncomprehending. Impossible though it seemed, the particulars of her death made it clear: she had taken her life.
At fifty-five, Lisa had been tested more than anyone I know: of her nine children, one had been stillborn and another had died in infancy. A third was afflicted with a rare bone disease. Lisa herself had numerous medical and psychiatric problems, including eczema, schizophrenia, and Parkinson's disease. She had difficulty walking, and at times her hands trembled so violently that she could not feed or dress herself. On top of all this, her husband had left her.
An active member in a close-knit congregation, Lisa was not without friends. Besides that, she had a good doctor, a nurse who made daily house calls, and neighbors who looked out for her. Her adult children,
Be Not Afraid In God's Hands
too, did all they could to support her. But it hadn't been enough, and now she was gone, leaving everyone who knew her reeling in self-doubt, guilt, and grief.
Years earlier, Lisa and I had lived in the same locality,
and she had worked as a nurse in the hospital where my wife (also a nurse) had trained. Now we lived hundreds of miles away. We had kept in touch with Lisa over the years, and knew she was prone to depression. But we never would have expected this…
Lisa's funeral, like that of any suicide, was a painful one. Still, my father, a longtime friend of her family, encouraged them not to despair as they struggled to make sense of what had happened. Paraphrasing the author Romano Guardini, he reminded them that no matter how deep our wounds, God, who always sees and understands, is endlessly merciful:
To lose one's mother is to suffer a wound to the heart.
But God's love is greater. And in light of this death,
especially, it is important that we trust in God, for when
we do, he will answer every need. He promises us in the
Book of Isaiah that "as a mother comforteth her child, so
I shall comfort you."
We may not be able to understand everything a person
does, for we can see only his outward appearance, but
God, who sees the depths of every heart, can. A person
Be Not Afraid In God's Hands
may sometimes do something stupid despite his better
judgment: try as he might, he cannot do what he wants
to do, or find the right words to say what is on his mind.
It is even possible to do something intentionally, but not
be able to explain one's intent. All one feels is a restless
urge, and the more one tries to fathom it, the more
repressed one feels, and the deeper the silence becomes.
Such a state of mind can give rise to great torment and
suffering. But God still sees and hears…
God's seeing is an act of love. It embraces his creatures,
and affirms and encourages them. He hates nothing that
he has created. God sees with eyes of love, and there is
nothing brighter than his eyes, nor is there anything
more comforting…To be seen by God does not mean
exposure to a merciless gaze. It means being enfolded in
the deepest, most caring, most compassionate heart.
I have always hung on to these words – and not only in relation to Lisa. Five years earlier, an estranged uncle died in a mid-air collision over France. Pastors in the same church, Joel and my father worked together for decades. Over time, however, their relationship became increasingly strained and then fell apart when it came to light that Joel, who was married to my father's sister, was sleeping with another woman. Angry at having been exposed, Joel left his family and the church. For
Be Not Afraid In God's Hands
a long time afterward, my father wrote to him, begging him to see the damage he had done, and pleading for reconciliation. But Joel only grew more bitter.
In early 1973, my father received what turned out
to be Joel's last letter – a hateful message dripping with sarcasm. Not long afterward came the news of his death. Naturally Joel's wife and children were deeply shaken. Where was he now? And how could his soul ever find rest in death, given the way he had lived?
My father was just as distraught, but he cautioned the family not to rush to judgment. Reminding them of the story of the remorseful thief at Golgotha, he encouraged them to remember Jesus' promise, "Today you shall be with me in Paradise." Surely those words hold true for everyone who repents, my father said. And how did they know that Joel had not sought – and found – forgiveness, if only in the last seconds of his life?
The fear that plagued Joel's family is understandable, especially in light of traditional Christian views of hell. Yet it is neither healthy nor constructive. God judges, it is true, but even in the Old Testament he says, "Have I any desire for the death of a wicked man? Would I not rather that he should mend his ways and live?" And in the New Testament we read, "It is not God's will for any soul to be lost, but for all to come to repentance."
Be Not Afraid In God's Hands
No matter what our grounds for worry, I firmly believe that there are always greater grounds for hope – and for trusting (as the First Letter of John puts it) in the love that casts out fear. For, as we read in Romans
8, "Neither death nor life, nor angels nor hell, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God."