The Thursday before last I had the privilege of sharing parts of my story again at a different church in Raleigh–this time with the ladies who are part of the Bible class I am a member of currently. A part of me was dreading this particular day because I was asked to share a devotional I had written about the “change of address” (or what most down here call “death”) of my dear friend, Jane; and I was convinced that I would go into ugly cry mode in front of a group of women who actually see me weekly. My shallow prayer was answered, though, as during my talk I did not cry in such a way. The tears did, however, come afterward as I was approached by several lovely people going through most trying times.
Two of these individuals, mother and daughter, are living alongside their most beloved husband and father as he finishes the race down here with a type of cancer about which even the sharpest medical scientists among us can do precious little. He’s a former pastor, with a daughter who’s also ordained, and he and his wife have been together since preschool (literally)–and he’s in his sixties, so that’s a really long time. I simply had no “real” words for either of them as they hugged me through tears and told me that what I shared about my own journey, and my friend’s, ministered to their hurting hearts.
Another lovely woman approached me too to tell me that one of the personal stories I had shared encouraged her in a very special way. This comment was most impactful to me, especially when she then told me that her own beloved spouse was currently living with the disease of ALS–something about which, again, even the most brilliant medical minds among us seem to be able to do far too little. We simply live in a world of hurt that oftentimes cannot be fixed at all my human hands, not even temporarily–and certainly not eternally.
What struck me most about these women I’ve described, though, as well as others I have not mentioned, is not their suffering at all but their serenity and even their joy–not because of what they are enduring but in spite of it; and nothing at all down here in this realm has ever provided me with any means to process and to understand this on any level at all, except for my faith in another realm closer to us than we can now imagine–a realm where the suffering of these beloved ones is erased forever.
I’ve found that, typically, the U.S. culture of today does not seem to like to think about suffering all that much. We seem to often choose to run away from it or to deny it or to substitute something else in its place (or to do some combination of all of these options)–unless and until the day actually comes when we have no other choice presented to us except to walk through it. And that is where so many of us appear to find a God who cares for us so very much that he is willing to take the very thing sent to destroy us and turn it into precious material ultimately used to heal us and others too along the way.
For those familiar with the Old Testament book of Numbers, the image of a destructive thing being turned into a healing one is a reference to a passage I read yesterday in which God asks Moses to use bronze to fashion a serpent on a staff–a staff that would heal the people all around Moses, people dying from literal snakebites; all the sufferers had to do was look up. As I processed this story, my daughter asked me if this is why our ambulances are marked by a snake on a staff. I love that her mind went there; my own never had. While the formula for physical healing is not always as straightforward for us as it was for those Israelites, the formula for ultimate healing is–Christ and his cross are our medicine.
If there had been another way to heal us, a way that did not involve the betrayal and torture and death of the most beloved child ever begotten, surely our loving and all-knowing God would have found it. There was no other way. Jesus the Christ had to suffer all that he did so that there would be a finite end to our own suffering. And knowing and accepting this fact with our own hearts and minds and souls and strength is what gives women like the ones I described above serenity and even joy come whatever may.
Though your time was limited, you spoke eloquently, intertwining your heart, your emotions and your facts into and in honor of our your loving God. Our loving God!. I have no doubt you touched many.
I’ve had the blessings of hearing you speak twice, reading your book, “Hear I Am” and especially blessed to be in a Bible study class with you. Angela, have you ever been filmed while speaking? There is an aura, a radiance, when you speak about your “I Am”. First observed this in class, so it is not only in formal presentations. Remarkably, it is a part of you, but believe you are oblivious of this.
In presentations and in your book, you take us along on a painful, but wonderfully glorious journey. You don’t try to convince or convert, you don’t hammer away as if you are on a mission. You simply share, but not so much a story as a journey, offering us a lift along the way. You have a very dramatic story, but never emote as far too many do, making everything from presentations to class discussions enjoyable and relatable.
Thank you.
Your words left me speechless, Anne; and you’ve been around me enough now to know that leaving me in such a state is a really hard thing to do! Thank you for your kindness and encouragement. You really are a cheerleader:). And I cannot even begin to tell you how much it means to me to know that you see Him in me. He is alive indeed!