Healed and Home

Since childhood, I have prayed for my mother to be healed of diabetes. As a young child, I simply prayed that the diabetes would go away. As I grew physically and spiritually, my prayers became focused on staving off the ravages of this cruel disease: "please don't let her suffer kidney failure," "please give her strength to endure the dialysis," "please let her circulation stay strong so that limbs don't have to be removed." The prayers were all there - sometimes wrapped in one encompassing prayer: "Take care of Mother."

In God's perfect timing, he knew when it was time to answer the ultimate prayer of healing. He answered that prayer on Sunday, April 20. God always answers prayer, but perhaps not in the way that we might envision. My mother did suffer kidney failure, but not until she was 61 years old, after living with diabetes for 41 years. And the dialysis was terribly hard on her body and heart, but she did it for 10 years - a long time for a dialysis patient. And her circulation failed in the extremities of her body, and she had to have limbs removed...three surgeries. No, my prayers were not answered the way the I imagined, but God gave us something so much deeper and wider than granting my requests for an easy life. Her body was worn out and I know that she was ready to go, but yet she never complained. She never questioned or wavered in her faith. Sitting confined to the wheelchair, she would still say, "God has been so good to me." And she meant it. We have seen a living example of rock solid trust in God that was lived out despite great pain and suffering. Mother died at home, literally in the arms of my father. She slipped out of this world - shedding the broken and worn out body that had stayed so strong for 71 years. She left my father's arms and with new legs walked into the arms of her heavenly Father. I like to think that she ran - on legs that are strong and eternal. Our dear friend Calvin Miller said during her eulogy: "I bet Betty is dancing and saying, 'if only you could see me now.'" I know that she is.

I could ask a thousand questions of God - not the least of which is, "why didn't my mother get the opportunity to enjoy a healthy body for her entire life?" "Why did God give her a body that would struggle to make it to 71 years?" - which doesn't really seem very old after all. "Why?" But those questions really have no answers. Life is full of the unanswerable. If I open my eyes and begin to look at this world, the "why" questions are endless. God walks where I am walking. He knows the pain of death. He knows the sorrow of loss. He did not spare himself from it, so I must believe that there is something beautiful and redeeming about pain and suffering. I don't understand it. In fact, most of it is a mystery. But my mother - who is dancing on two strong legs, understands it completely.