Almost two years ago, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. The bad kind that no one survives. I talked to the doctor--told him to cut the vague BS because I'm smarter than I look--he had mercy on me and told me the truth; no one survives this. She has done all of the usual things--the radiation, the chemo, the experimental GEMZAR that made her want to die just to feel better--and now the treatments are over because the cancer is everywhere, on the move, taking over her body. Now she is waiting, using morphine and fentanyl to ease the pain.
My siblings are grief-stricken; they expected the doctors and the meds to work, for God to perform a miracle and heal their mother. They look at me with suspicion, wondering why I don't fall apart when they do--they LOVE her, that's why they cry--I must not LOVE her.
I dreamed about this years ago. The terror, the tears, the grief that takes the strength out of your legs and breath out of your body--I've done it already. There was not one minute that I thought she would survive this--where is my faith? They have been praying daily for her healing, laying hands on her once a week for healing--they believe and wonder Why? Why doesn't God heal her?
Isaiah 55:8-9 (New International Version)
8 "For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,"
declares the LORD.
9 "As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.