Feeling the need to share

In January 1990, we got the shock of our lives.
We’d noticed changes in dad for a while. A personality change, headaches, and running into things.
“Why’d you do that dad? It’s right there?”
“I didn’t see it.”

The doctors diagnosed a cancerous brain tumor on the left side of his brain, which they thought had started in his lungs. On the vision center of his brain, it was quickly growing and causing dad to go blind. Dad explained some of what he was going through.
“I can’t see anything.”
He stood with his arms out to the side and began to swing them forward slowly. Finally when they were almost directly in front of him he stopped. “Here. I can see them here.”

As surgery was scheduled, family and friends began to pour into the house offering casseroles, kind words and promises of prayers.

One, my cousin Sherry, took it another step further. She wanted to pray with us. So even thought I thought it was “weird” (but at 13 everything adults do is “weird”) we stood together in a circle and held hands, while Sherry prayed a simple prayer for blessings, strength, healing, and guidance for the doctors.

Short, sweet, simple.

But that simple prayer caught the heart of God.

Later that afternoon I came down from my room and found my dad crying at the dining room table. At first I panicked.

“What’s wrong?!”

He looked up at me. “I can see.”

“What do you mean ‘I can see?’”

He put his arms out to the side again and began to swing them forward slowly. This time he stopped quickly, with his arms still out to the side.

“Here. Now I can see them here.”

I was 13, but that was the first time I understood that God interacted with us,- that prayer wasn’t just throwing up ideas, but someone was listening, and responding. And while I wouldn’t become a Christian for 4 more years, this was the beginning of my relationship with God. I knew the Lord as the God who Sees, and the God who Heals, way before I knew him as the God who Saves.

And while most patients with non-small cell lung cancer will die within 4 months of their diagnosis, my dad survived and lived well for 17 ½ more years.

I am so grateful for that gift of time that was given to my family. He was able to experience graduations, weddings, and grandchildren that the doctors said wouldn’t be seen.