Every morning I wake up, and throughout each day, I hold two opposing views – one in each hand.
In one hand is the reality that Will’s doctors labeled his cancer “non-curable.” They have no treatments, surgeries, or options that will heal Will and restore is body. Will’s pain is great, and he has been and continues to physically suffer. We are not naïve to the horrors of this situation. It’s bad. Very bad.
But then, there’s the other hand. This hand holds the hope and belief that Will can and will be healed. That I worship and serve a God, who has the power to raise the dead. That there is nothing in Will’s body that is too big or too far along for God to heal and bring complete restoration.
It is these two hands that I hold up, side-by-side, each day. I walk along the tension line between them. To not acknowledge one and only focus on the other is to kid myself. But to hold both and acknowledge both equally is incredibly difficult. It means I must hope, while realizing that death might be close. It means I must watch suffering and pain like I’ve never seen before, and believe that physical, earthly healing is possible.
Some days, I do this better than others. I long for Will to be fully restored to the brother-in-law and friend I know and love, who I’ve spent countless hours with talking about life, laughing, and sharing hopes. I can’t bear the thought of him not being a part of my life, and my family’s life, for the next 40, 50, 60 years.
But, I believe in not knowing what each day holds for Will (and for me, for that matter), I must pray for courage to walk between these tensions. To hold both hands equally before me, everyday. I believe that I must do this to best serve and walk alongside Will and Angie. Lord, give me strength. Give us all the strength to do this.