Love's Ultimate Test

This afternoon I called my old friend, Phillip, who I used to work with in Tennessee. He and his family hold a very special place in my heart as they walked with me (and sometimes carried me) through what was the darkest night of my soul. If I lived a hundred lifetimes I couldn’t repay them for how they loved me and ministered to me when I needed it most. They’re the kind of people who, above all others in this world, deserve all God’s blessings.

For whatever reason, theirs has been an ongoing saga of loss instead. And from the moment Phillip spoke today, I could tell there was another ominous shadow in their lives.

His sister, Christy, had gone up to the Mayo Clinic to get evaluated for some ongoing balance and coordination problems. The doctors confirmed it was ALS, more commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease. It affects motor neurons, causing atrophy of muscles that control most body functions. There is no cure and it is usually terminal within a few years.

As Phillip continued to explain the situation between long pauses, I thought about the verse I had read that morning in Proverbs 14: “The heart knows it’s own bitterness, and a stranger does not share it’s joy.” (v.10) There are no words. No, you’ve never been there, done that. All you can do is mourn with those that mourn. And I did, closing the door to my office.

Phillip said that Christy’s husband, Doug, was having the hardest time dealing with the news. As a man, I understand. It’s easier for us to say, like Job, “Though He slay me, yet will I serve Him.” Men are called to die … to “love our wives just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her.” It’s seeing the ones we love “slain” that puts us to the ultimate test.

How does a man wake each day, seeing the woman he knows and cherishes gradually fade away as he turns to gaze on her in the morning? How does he press on as he watches her lose the ability to walk, to communicate, to swallow, to breathe and eventually, to survive? Where does he muster the kind of faith it takes to get out of bed, go to work and provide for ever-mounting needs, leaving a disabled and helpless partner behind?

Beyond the realities of that daily existence, how then does one break through the betrayal barrier that raises a clenched fist to God and asks a question for which there is no acceptable answer? I don’t know, and to be truthful, I don’t want to ever have to know.

Phillip tells me Doug is making financial plans to provide for a wheelchair, handicapped access throughout their home, and any other medical necessities to deal with the eventual ravages of ALS. He is hurriedly planning trips with his wife to Disney World and to Europe that they hadn't before shared because of Christy's unyielding frugality. He is enlisting the help of his family, friends and church body to help care for his mate as she becomes less able to function.

He is loving ... until there's no one around to love anymore. And that's how he's making it right now.

The harder question of how to continue to love a God who could have prevented such tragedy? I want to believe that I would endure like those in Hebrews 11 who "did not receive the promise" — those who didn't see their dead raised to life or escape the sword or close the mouths of lions and never recanted their devotion to God. The subhead of that chapter reads, "By Faith They Overcame." I can only pray that the Lord would grant me that measure of faith should I ever need to pass that kind of test.

Please pray for Christy and Doug.