How God Works - jodipgreen



My Early Years

My spiritual journey actually began before I was born when my mother brought me to church every Sunday while I was still in her womb. At no time in my childhood would I have ever asked the question, “Are we going to church today?” Of course we would go. My mother was either coordinating the nursery or teaching children in some capacity. My dad was either Sunday School director, deacon chairman or director of some other area of the church. My brother was the church organist by the time he was eleven years old. Family reunions and vacations were planned around Sunday church. We lived across the street from our church, and we always left our house open in case someone from the church needed anything at any time.

When I was nine years old, the idea of myself as a sinner first occurred to me. I immediately wanted to understand my own way of salvation. So, with as much as I could understand at that time, I gave my heart to Jesus. I had a long way to go in understanding the spiritual road I had chosen, but I had a clear desire to live a life pleasing to God.

When I first began to consider seriously the path my life would take, I realized that

marriage would not exactly suit my personality. In our teen years, my brother and I had

attended (been sent by our parents as a last resort to) a Bill Gothard Institute in Basic

Youth Conflicts seminar. The Bill Gothard seminars have received a lot of criticism over years, and I don’t necessarily agree with everything they became later, but in 1978 it was just what I needed. That was where I first learned the depth of the concept of submission, and at that time I desperately needed the concept imbedded in my relationship with my parents. As the true meaning of the many facets of true submission began to sink in, I clearly understood that I would not fit in to a submissive wife role.

My mother had been a wonderful example of a submissive wife for most of my life…certainly most of my impressionable years. My parents’ marriage had withstood a painful period that had taught my mother a lot about her role as a wife before God. After the Bill Gothard seminar in my teen years, I decided I would not want to live my life like that.

Let me back up and explain a little. My parents had both been raised by very Godly mothers, who trained them in the ways of the Lord. Both of their fathers came to know the Lord later in life, but soon enough to have a positive spiritual influence on each of my parents. They were high school sweethearts who married young and started our family in their early twenties. They were as strong as they knew to be in their faith, but God had a lot to teach them. They trained my brother and me with a strong foundation in the Bible and all things spiritual. We both accepted Christ as our Savior at a young age. They had some rocky times, but emerged strong in their relationship with the Lord and with each other.

So, by the time I was in the market to consider my life ambitions, I had a firm opinion of how I wanted this life to look. A big red flag should have been how strongly my plans and dreams figured into the scheme of things. Back then, it never really occurred to me that God might have a different road for me than the one I was planning. I was your typical “You won’t need to spend too much time planning my life, Lord, because I have it all worked out” person. I did, of course, remember to ask God to bless my plans. Jeremiah 29:11 (“For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord…”) did not account for much of my thought time.

I never dated very seriously in high school; it was more of a game to me than anything to take too seriously. I once dated the same boy for three weeks and felt totally suffocated. There were a few I liked better than others, but nothing very serious. Again, the idea of getting serious, getting married, and having to be a submissive wife was not my idea of a good life.

When I began college in the fall of 1979, this “no marriage for me” resolve was firmly in place. However, that first few weeks of school, I met my future husband. Naturally it did not occur to me at the time that I would later marry him, but Steve Holley was right in the way of upsetting all my plans.

We began to date that fall, and soon noticed that we were dating only each other. We had never officially discussed this exclusive dating relationship, but there it was. Over the months of our budding relationship, I began to seriously reconsider my opinions on marriage. Steve also had plans and goals that had marriage posted in the more distant future. By spring break, my parents were inviting Steve on our family vacation, and our relationship took a definite leap toward life commitment. In the fall of 1981 we picked out my engagement ring.

Steve had also been raised in a basically Christian home. They were farm people from out in the country, and they loved God, country and fresh-shucked corn, and not always in that order. Steve had also accepted the Lord, but he knew very little about how a commitment to Christ looked in everyday life. When he left home for college, he left his religion back on the farm in Oak Grove where it was more convenient. When we met, he was not actively involved in church, but he seemed relieved to pick up the habit of regular church again. He formed an almost instant bond with my dad. My dad saw in Steve the qualities he would want in a husband for his daughter, and he gladly fostered the relationship. He recognized in Steve a desire to follow God’s ways, and Dad spent a good deal of time talking with Steve about how to do that.

Steve had begun experiencing severe headaches during the year we officially became engaged. We attributed these to the stress he was under at work and school. By this time Steve was nearing graduation, and his boss had offered him a great opportunity to become a partner with him in his business. Steve had started working full-time that year, as well as attending school full-time at night. So his workload was very heavy at that time. The headaches, we assumed, were simply his body telling him to slow down.

During Labor Day weekend that year, we attended a singles conference in Glorietta, New Mexico with our church group. Miraculously Steve’s headaches disappeared while we were there. Coming from Louisiana, we thought maybe the headaches were sinus-related, with the mountain air providing such relief. We even casually discussed moving to the mountains after graduation.

Steve was the type of person who planned things meticulously and made sure he thought through big decisions carefully. Our marriage was certainly no exception. He had started planning for insurance needs, as well as our living arrangements and short and long term goals for our life together. One of his college buddies had started selling insurance, and Steve bought himself a hospitalization plan. What a great decision that turned out to be.

In October, Steve had gone to the dentist, who told him he would need to think about getting his wisdom teeth removed. Within a couple of weeks, he developed what appeared to be an abscessed wisdom tooth. The dentist gave him antibiotics and the wisdom tooth surgery was scheduled. Steve had an apparent allergic reaction to the medicine, and we had to rush him to the emergency room. They admitted him to the hospital to be sure he was stable, and we found out that if he had his wisdom teeth surgery while in the hospital, his new insurance would cover the cost. So, that’s what we did.

After the surgery, the oral surgeon told us that what had appeared to be abscess looked a little unusual to him. He let us know that he was having a biopsy done on that tissue. That seemed very unremarkable to us at the time. We settled down to discuss getting back on track with our goals and plans. So, when the surgeon came to Steve’s room some time later, we were totally stunned by the news that the unusual tissue was, in fact, malignant.

I will never forget that night. The surgeon asked me to step out of the room while he talked with Steve. That really made me mad. After all, I was his fiancée, wasn’t I? I remember pacing the width of the hall right outside the room, so I could immediately come back in. When the doctor called me back into the room, the atmosphere was foreboding. I sat on the edge of Steve’s bed, waiting to hear what they had discussed. As Dr. Willis explained the gravity of the situation, I was watching dark dots form on my pants, as tears dripped on my legs. All of a sudden, my life was taking a turn that I had not planned.

We first called both sets of our parents. Then the doctor brought in an ear, nose and throat specialist to discuss the treatment. As Dr. Danna studied Steve’s reports, he decided that we should go to Houston, Texas for more expert treatment. Suddenly our lives were thrust into an almost surreal existence. As soon as we could pack and make arrangements, we were on our way to Houston to the famous cancer research hospitals.

I’ll take a moment here to describe what I was feeling at the time. I remember driving home from the hospital in my little blue mustang with an almost hopeless feeling of despair. I was crying out to God to see what we had done to deserve such a fate. On that ride home by myself, I subconsciously rejected the thought that Steve might die. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I know that in those moments I also resolved to get through this thing in my own strength. I prayed for the Lord to help us, but deep down I was depending on my own personal stamina. I mentally squared my shoulders and decided we would somehow make it through this. I’ll use the term “religious humanism” to describe my attitude about this crisis situation – I wanted to say I trusted God, but in reality I trusted my own ability to get through.

During this time God gave Psalm 91:14-16 to my mother. It says, “Because he has set his love upon Me, therefore I will deliver him; I will set him on high, because he has known My name. He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him, and show him My salvation.” That was confirmation to me that Steve would somehow get through this.

As we began to wade through the process of finding out what exactly was wrong and how exactly it could be fixed, the situation became increasingly more complex. Exploratory surgeries revealed a much more serious malignancy than we had imagined. The more they studied Steve’s tumor, the more invasive the treatment that would be required. Finally, on a Tuesday night in November, Dr. Rosendahl sat with our families and outlined the grim situation. He began by telling Steve that life had dealt him a pretty bad hand. He told us that the tumor was extremely aggressive and that extensive surgery and treatment would be required. He gently told us that even if everything they did was 100% successful, that the nature of this particular malignancy would only allow Steve five years to live. He said we should discuss this as a family and let him know how we wanted to proceed.

The first thing Steve did was to ask everyone except my dad to leave the room. Steve and my dad were very close, and I assumed he wanted to discuss this first with him. Later it would occur to me that maybe his parents ought to have been invited in on that conversation. But what was on Steve’s mind right then was whether my dad would still give his blessing to our marriage in light of this most recent discovery. As far as I know, there was only one exchange between them. Steve asked if my dad wanted to take me home and tell me to forget I ever knew him. Dad replied that the thought of anything like that never entered his mind. Then Steve called the rest of his family in to discuss the options.

Meanwhile, my mother and I walked alone down the hospital hall in stunned silence. How could all this be happening? I was supposed to be picking out my wedding dress and fussing over bridesmaids’ dresses. My mind could hardly grasp how life was spinning out of control for me. Mom and I slipped into a dark hospital room, wrapped our arms around each other and cried for a while. I don’t even remember any words passing between us. I am her only daughter, and we have always been extremely close. After I was able to collect myself, we walked back around to Steve’s room. When we opened the door, there were all the men in the family kneeling, with Steve leading in prayer. I remember thinking, “Of course that’s the right thing to do. Then when we give our testimony of how God worked this situation out, we can say the first thing we did was to pray.” I don’t remember a strong sense of actually giving the situation to God; I just remember knowing that was the image I wanted to portray. I know now that I was afraid to give Steve to God in case God did not do what I wanted Him to do.

So the next morning they wheeled Steve into surgery. They would be removing the tumor, along with half of his hard palate (roof of his mouth) and half of his top front teeth (connected to the hard palate). The stitches would begin at the center of his top lip, go straight up to his nose, and curve around his nose up to just under his eye. Then they would extend from under his eye out to about one inch past his eye. He was quite a sight with such an extreme cut in his face. Without the hard palate, a person’s face does not fill out properly, so there would have to be some sort of prosthesis to form his face shape, as well as provide teeth for chewing and talking. Right after surgery, they had his entire sinus cavity packed with sixteen square feet of gauze. There was a huge hole that reached from his mouth to the floor of his eye socket. I could even see a little behind his nose. I immediately busied myself with logistics: how to take care of the details of all of this.

One particular difficulty in all of this was the anesthesia. My medical knowledge is severely limited, but they had great difficulty figuring out the right amount of anesthesia Steve’s body needed. On some of the exploratory surgeries, they had given him too much, and it was very hard for him to wake up. On this first major surgery, they didn’t give quite enough, and he was conscious enough to feel the pain and hear their words, but not conscious enough to tell them what he could feel. They actually did not believe him on this matter until he quoted some of the things they said in surgery. That was a particularly daunting part of the whole experience.

Somewhere in the middle of all of these difficult days, Steve had contacted my brother back home and asked him to go get my engagement ring off of layaway at the local jeweler. Way before it was the cool thing to do, Steve was a Dave Ramsey poster boy. He didn’t believe in credit of any kind; you just saved up and waited. Anyway, my brother brought my ring and what was already official between us became official to everyone else.

Meanwhile, the doctors wanted Steve to recover as quickly as possible from the surgery so that they could begin radiation treatment. They knew from the exploratory surgeries that the tumor was very aggressive and fast-growing. So even though they felt they had gotten the entire tumor, radiation would finish off any lingering cancer cells. So we went home and had Christmas, and came back to prepare for six weeks of radiation.

I remember over the holidays that Steve wanted to go ahead and get married right then. He discussed it with my dad first, and together they tried to talk me into the idea of a small quick wedding before the radiation. At the time I still had on my rose-colored glasses, and I knew that I wanted to look back on a big fairy-tale wedding rather than a small, not-as-special event. I had no idea how little that would matter to me later.

If you have never seen someone marked for radiation, it can be very startling to see. In order to get the radiation in exactly the right area, the doctors took purple dye and drew the lines off on Steve’s face. Thankfully, Steve did not have any self-image problems; otherwise this could have really had a negative impact. I was particularly interested to notice the rudeness of total strangers as they stared or made remarks that we could hear. It didn’t seem to bother Steve at all. He had already begun to use every opportunity to tell people about his faith in Christ. Interestingly, not long before his illness, he had worried about the fact that he didn’t seem to be able to share his faith in God very easily. God worked that out for him so that it was very easy to turn every conversation into a witnessing opportunity.

Steve also had had concerns about being the spiritual head of our home. He felt that I knew more about the Bible than he did, and that it would be difficult for him to feel “in the lead” spiritually. We were praying about that at the time his illness began. It soon became apparent how God was going to close that supposed gap. In fact, every day Steve’s faith and trust in God and His plan were growing stronger, while my relationship with God was growing more distant. I did know more about the Bible than Steve did, but I did not understand what it meant to trust God with the details of life. I was not aware at the time of my growing resentment toward God and how He was ruining all my plans and dreams.

One daunting part of the radiation was the fact that Steve’s jaw began to lock. Each day it seemed he could open his mouth less and less. The doctors told us that he needed to work harder at exercising his jaw. Part of Steve’s personality was that he never did anything halfway. So he would wrap my fingers with heavy tape and get me to try to pull his jaws apart. He would insist that I keep on until my arms were too sore to continue. Then he took a heavy-duty skirt hanger that I had, and took the clip off. He wrapped tape around the ends that would give constant pressure and he would leave that clip between his good teeth for as long as he could stand it. It was tremendously irritating to me when we would go in to the doctor and hear him say that Steve was just not trying hard enough to loosen his jaw muscles. What none of us knew at the time was that another tumor was growing in the same area.

After the six weeks of radiation were completed, Steve wanted to return to work as soon as possible, but he was experiencing tremendous pain. He was still packing the entire area where the bones and sinus had been removed while we waited for swelling to subside and a prosthesis to be fitted. By the time of his checkup after radiation, another tumor was filling the exact same area. I remember telling the Houston doctors that I saw another growth in there. They basically patted my hand and told me that tumors do not grow in the field of radiation during radiation. But as they unpacked the area and examined him, that is exactly what had happened. By this time, lots of doctors were interested in this unusual tumor. We went around to several different research hospitals in Houston gathering information and getting different treatment options. Steve really liked his original surgeon, Dr. Anders Rosendahl, so we continually returned to him after every new opinion. At that time Dr. Rosendahl said that if he were Steve he would just go home and make the best of his last few weeks or months. In other words, do not seek any more treatment: it will just make you miserable and it is not going to help this situation. Steve was not the type of person who would just give up, and I certainly was not in a mindset to go home and die. I still believed with all my heart that Steve would get well. Looking back, I know that Steve had a feeling that he would not physically recover, but he kept that from me and fought on.

The next step was to go back in and surgically remove the new tumor. Then they would follow up with chemotherapy. Our wedding invitations had already been engraved for a June 12 wedding. But this new information would have to alter that somewhat. Steve wanted to go ahead and move the wedding up sooner, so that we could face this new hurdle as a married couple. After being assured that my fairytale wedding could still happen, I was in full agreement. We had a card printed to insert into the invitations that read: “Due to circumstances with Steve’s illness, the wedding has been changed to May 8, 1982.” Many faithful friends met at our church to address the invitations while we were in Houston in the hospital.

I remember so well how things fell into place for the wedding. We really had to scramble to get everything changed, but miraculously almost every detail worked out. There was only one small problem with the florist. Unfortunately May 8 was the day before Mother’s Day that year. They would be able to accommodate the new date, but some of the flowers would have to be silk rather than real. Now I know that some people prefer silk to real, but I was not one of those people. I asked for a moment to think about it, and I walked out of the florist shop and bent over double sobbing. Steve walked out to comfort me; he assured me that with everything else working out so well, surely the thought of silk flowers should not ruin our plans. I suppose, looking back now, that the stress of the whole situation manifested itself into a seemingly unimportant detail. So, with that, silk flowers would be the only glitch in my plans.

So, we were married, honeymooned, and returned immediately to Houston for the next surgery. The doctors had told us that with this aggressive tumor, Steve would need immediate chemotherapy after the surgery to try to curb the growth of any new tumors. He would have a four-day drip of one type of chemo, with two others administered in smaller doses at the same time. After this was started, I was in his room reading the massive amount of information they give you on the treatments. I read that day that the main drug Steve was taking would render a man sterile. As I stared at the paper, it began to sink in that my dream of a big family was being dashed at that very moment. I became almost hysterical over the fact that they had not given us this information before the treatment was begun. As I cried and ranted over this untenable situation, Steve calmly reminded me that God’s power was certainly greater than any drug He had created…that if He meant us to have children, nothing could hinder that. I safely tucked that away in my mind. It could certainly be useful when we looked back on this and gave our testimony of how God worked.

That particular hospital stay was the time when Dr. Rosendahl took me out in the hall to discuss my “too cheerful” attitude. He informed me gently that I needed to face the fact that no matter what they did, the long-term outlook was grim. I remember calmly informing him that God, not the medical profession, was in control of our lives. If only I had truly believed that in my heart, I would have saved myself a lot of grief.

We were set to return to Houston once a month for chemotherapy. After only one round, they realized that yet another tumor was growing in the exact same area. In June, we were sent to a new specialist to discuss a new treatment. This one would be a different type of radiation that was called electron therapy. It would last for three weeks, and would be more powerful than standard radiation treatments. So we settled into a hotel room to receive the daily outpatient treatments.

After this set of treatments, we returned home to wait and see what would happen. It didn’t take long to realize that this also had failed to stop the growth of yet another tumor in the exact same area. We continued to make our monthly trips for chemotherapy while the doctors studied any new ideas for further treatment. During September we were able to have the treatments transferred to Monroe for convenience and to conserve Steve’s strength. The Houston doctors had learned that Dr. Anderson practiced in West Monroe, and he was a nationally recognized hematology specialist. So we gratefully transferred treatment back home. The chemotherapy treatments were physically very draining, as anyone with experience can attest to.

One extremely upsetting occurrence happened during the first set of treatments in Monroe. Since the treatments had originated in Houston, I suppose some of the procedures were unfamiliar in a smaller hospital. Steve took a set of three chemicals each month: one was a four day intravenous drip; one was just “piggy-backed” into that i.v. line; and one was put on a machine that would let the chemical go in over a thirty minute period. They had explained that the body could not take this chemical quickly into the bloodstream because of danger to the heart. So, as they were connecting all the needles and lines, I was particularly alarmed to see the nurse injecting the thirty minute dose all at once. I told her that that one was supposed to go in slowly, but she dismissed my concerns. Since she was unwilling to stop, I picked up the phone to call the doctor. She became upset over that, so she grudgingly agreed to check the chart. Of course, when she did, she realized she was wrong. She came back and put the medicine on the slow-drip machine. But unfortunately, this did not endear us to her. After she left, I began to check the other lines and chemicals to see whether anything else was amiss. The four-day drip came in four twenty-four hour bags. As I looked at the first bag more closely, I realized that the expiration date was before the bag was to finish dripping. So I called our friendly nurse back in to point out the new problem. She called the pharmacy, who promptly sent up a new bag. By this time, about one third of the bag had dripped.

It never occurred to me what the nurse would write on the chart about the incident. When Dr. Anderson came in with the chart the next day, he commented that we were making very good progress, since the second bag was already about half finished. I explained to him what had happened, but he just patted my hand and said I must have fallen asleep or something. He showed me the chart that clearly documented the first bag as having completed. I was very uncomfortable looking at the chart, but he assured me that it would work out. He was certain that the discrepancy was accounted for. I was not so sure, but I let it go.

When Steve had his blood checked to see how soon the next treatment could be administered, surprisingly his white blood count was not as low as usual after the treatments. This made that doctor decide to increase the medicine, since the more a person’s body can tolerate, the better.

I’ll take a moment here to say a little about how the treatments affected Steve physically. The nausea, as most chemotherapy patients can attest, is almost debilitating. We had tried a number of nausea medications, but the only one that helped was THC – prescription marijuana. I never really understood the controversy around that treatment. Steve did not smoke marijuana; he took THC tablets. If he started taking them several hours before the beginning of the treatment, he could make it without throwing up for four straight days. So we were extremely grateful to be able to take it. It kept the treatments from setting him back so badly.

So, the next treatment was increased on a false notion – that his body was ready for another treatment. Consequently, Steve’s body could not, in fact, tolerate more chemicals. Within a week or so Steve’s body began to react to what was, in effect, an overdose of chemotherapy. One night his fever started rising dramatically. I called Dr. Anderson, and he wanted regular reports for the next hour or so about his temperature. After several more calls, the doctor instructed me to meet him at a different hospital than our normal one. Occasionally I can be rather stubborn, and this new hospital issue did not suit me at all. I dug in my heels and told him we would meet him at our regular hospital. He argued briefly, then told me he would be at the unfamiliar hospital and hung up. I had no choice but to take Steve there. I was slightly irritated at his insistence on something I plainly did not want to do.

After we arrived, it took some time to get everything settled. The nurse was having trouble getting an i.v. started, since Steve’s veins were very weak from all the chemotherapy. I was able to help her find a vein that had not been ruined, and we waited to see what the problem was. Finally the doctor explained what had happened: the under-reported chemotherapy, the subsequent increased dose, and Steve’s body’s reaction to the mistake. The doctor realized I was right, and he did not want us to return to the offending hospital.

During that stay, they put a Hickman catheter into Steve’s chest, since finding veins would increasingly be a problem. I was very nervous about attending a tube that went straight to his heart. The doctor had written on Steve’s chart that the wife would administer all medications. He had come to trust my preoccupation with everything that went into his body. I had my own little medicine bag that had everything we needed, as well as something called Narcan in case I accidentally overdosed him. After several days of antibiotics, Steve’s body rallied and everything settled back down.

Another heartache during that hospital stay was the death of my grandmother – my mother’s mother. The summer before Steve got sick she had had a stroke. Now, a year later she had another one that she would not recover from. My mother was desperately trying to attend to her mother and to us during this time. She was so tired. The night her mother died, she had been up all night, and came straight to us to help us the next morning. Steve had been close to my grandmother, and was very close to my mother, so he was determined to leave the hospital to attend the funeral. The doctor felt that Steve was strong enough by this time to go, so we were thankful to be there for my mother.

Later in the fall another new treatment surfaced. We returned to Houston in October to learn whether this could be our answer to prayer. This particular treatment would thread an intravenous line directly to the tumor and put the chemicals directly on the tumor. It was a difficult treatment since Steve had to be awake to let them know when the line was in the right place. The tube would be inserted in the femoral artery (top of the thigh), and threaded all the way to his head. The first treatment was extremely successful. There would be a total of three treatments. For the first time in a year we had a glimmer of hope.

Speaking of answered prayer, I must admit right here that I am not exactly sure what Steve was praying for at that time. I was extremely, selfishly caught up in what I wanted God to do with our situation. I was still practically demanding that God heal Steve. As I said earlier, I believe Steve had already understood from God what the outcome would be. I believe he was praying for strength to accomplish God’s will in a difficult life course. I was still assuming God would give us many years together here on earth. There was a certain feeling in my heart that God was making me chase His will, and if I made a wrong move anywhere along the way God would turn His back on me.

We returned home after that first new treatment to wait for the next one. We would have to wait a month, but during that month we learned that the tumor had definitely responded to the treatment. So we were happy to go back in November to receive treatment number two. Unfortunately, treatment number two was not to prove a very pleasant experience. After the procedure, the doctor who had performed the treatment left town. He left his partner in charge of Steve’s recovery from the treatment, as well as discharging us from the hospital. This doctor did not seem to know anything about Steve’s case. She refused to order what I needed to keep Steve comfortable, sending orders for drugs that had proven unsuccessful for pain and nausea. I knew that in Monroe I could get exactly what he needed from Dr. Anderson, and the treatment was over. At that time we were just trying to keep Steve comfortable until he felt strong enough to make the six to seven hour trip home. I called my Dad to see what to do. I wanted to just load Steve in the car and come home. Dad thought it was a good idea for both Steve and me. Since I was his primary caregiver, keeping me calm and lowering my frustration level would be good for everyone involved. Since I had been unable to reach the partner doctor by phone, I decided to just pack up and leave. The nurses were upset, telling me that I could not leave without doctor’s orders. I told them we are free to come and go as we please, within the law. I could not see that I was breaking any law, so I was preparing to leave. Dad had put Mom immediately on a plane to fly down and ride home with us, so that I could watch over Steve rather than have to drive. So we left the hospital that day without doctor’s orders. I was much more concerned with having Steve properly cared for than following hospital protocol.

That drive home was unforgettable to me. It was that very day that I finally began to realize that Steve was not in fact getting better. The bleak November weather mirrored the bleakness of my soul. I mostly stared out of the window trying to absorb the fact that Steve might not make it through this illness this side of heaven. The denial stage of grief was slowly giving way to anger over the whole situation. It absolutely never occurred to me that God could not heal Steve…just that He would not. That was the source of my anger. I was not angry at doctors or nurses or cancer or chemotherapy. I was angry at God. He was the only One who could heal our disease, and He was letting my dear husband waste away in tremendous pain and constant suffering. Why would He not act on our behalf (in a way that would suit my own desires)? I was well aware of Psalm 37:4, “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.” I was willing to be delighted in God if He would only give me the desire of my heart. It just didn’t seem that God was willing to do that in my order.

The verses that God had given my mother were also still in my heart. “…I will deliver him…with long life I will satisfy him…” None of us were the “name it and claim it” type people, but wasn’t this a direct word from God? Would He honor what He had shown us in the beginning? Or had we misunderstood the promise? The possibility of misunderstanding God’s promise did not occur to me. I was just mad that we were having to suffer so much in the meantime.

We made it home, stopping by the hospital for an i.v. drip. Thankfully it was time for Christmas again, and I was able to throw myself into preparations for the holiday. I simply pushed all thoughts of our situation to the back of my mind. I was determined to make our first Christmas as husband and wife memorable. I wanted lots of pictures and lots of presents under the tree. My parents would take turns staying with Steve while I went out shopping. I was so glad to be buying presents for Steve’s family, as well as mine. All of that totally occupied my mind during the next few weeks. There was nothing we could do about Steve’s illness at that time except manage the pain. Within a few weeks after the bad trip to Houston, it became apparent that the new treatment would not work either. After the second treatment, the tumor had not receded: it was already immune to the new treatment. So, all we could do was wait to see whether anyone would think up anything new in time.

After Christmas I was eager to have all of our pictures developed. My mother came with me to pick up the pictures at the developer. As I eagerly opened the envelope, I saw that not a single one of the pictures came out. I was completely devastated. All of a sudden the reality of our entire situation concentrated in this one detail, and I totally fell apart. I will try to describe the depth of emotion I felt that evening. My mother drove around while I sobbed uncontrollably for a while. The idea that God would take such a small pleasure from me had crushed my “everything’s going to be just fine soon” attitude. I felt that if God was truly going to take my husband from me, He could have at least seen to it that our Christmas memories were preserved. For the first time in my life I felt myself slipping down into a black hole that I would not be able to climb out of. Elisabeth Elliot has said that in her hours of grief she has never been angry toward God, for where else could she turn? But my anger was directed straight toward God, for He was the only One who could change my circumstance. I, too, had nowhere else to turn, and my only hope had turned His back on even my smallest desires. The feeling of hopelessness was completely overwhelming to me. The knowledge that I would not only not have my husband, but now I would not even have the preserved memories of our sweet first Christmas together took all the life out of me in that moment.

My poor mother didn’t know what to do with me. She didn’t want to take me back to Steve in such a mess, but she could see that even hours of driving around trying to deal with this would not make it better. Finally she took me back to see if Steve and my Dad could help work this out. But I was a complete goner by then. After my parents left, Steve held me against his chest and let me cry for a while. After a few minutes he wanted me to wash my face and let him talk to me. When I got myself pulled together finally, he calmly began to explain his feelings about the pictures. He told me that if God chose not to heal him, he really did not want my last memories of him to be how he looked at that time; and if God did heal him, he wouldn’t want to be reminded of how he looked either. Up until then Steve had never commented seriously about how he looked. I had grown so accustomed to the effects of the disease that it never really registered with me that he was startlingly different from how he used to be. In those moments, as Steve’s feelings about the pictures came out, I began to see how extremely selfish I had been for his entire illness. Because Steve didn’t put his feelings out there constantly, I had taken the position that only my feelings were important. I realized that I had not thought much about how Steve felt about anything for more than a year. As this new perspective began to sink in, I felt deeply ashamed of myself for making such an issue over something Steve did not even want. I resolved right then to push aside these newly discovered feelings of complete self-centeredness. They certainly would not look good in our testimony. Once again I turned my back on dealing with the pain and anger building up inside me. I chose the tranquilizer of my own strength to ease the strain. It was all I could manage at the time.

But the feelings of hopelessness would not go away for very long at a time. In front of the myriad of people who continually poured through our door to see Steve, I was the picture of the trusting soul. I recited for each new group and individual how God was in control and we were trusting Him for the outcome. At least it was half true. As my faith in God dried up, Steve’s faith was flourishing. He truly was the picture of a trusting soul. Even as his pain steadily increased, so did his faith that God was dictating every syllable of our lives. In our rare moments alone I would lie beside him as he prayed. He was asking God for half of the strength Jesus had as He drank the cup of the cross. He was also praying that God would encourage my heart. I would interrupt and tell him not to pray for me, that God hated me and I hated Him right back. In the stages of grief, my anger was in full flower. I had a few dark days, but mostly they were white hot with my fury that God was not working this thing out to suit me. All of my physical energy was directed toward keeping Steve as comfortable as possible. All of my emotional energy was focused in my anger and bitterness toward the cup God was forcing me to drink. I was never consenting to, “Not my will, but thine be done.” I wanted only my own will.

As far as the physical situation, things went from bad to worse. One day during this time there was a pimple-like place on the side of Steve’s face. He wanted me to get rid of it by popping it. After I popped it, it would not stop oozing. Steve wanted all of whatever it was to drain out. As it drained, he was feeling a measure of relief from the pain. I kept gently pressing more and more, soaking up many towels with the thick white fluid. I was a little alarmed to notice that the hole was getting larger. Finally I felt we should leave it alone. It was like nothing I had ever seen around the edges of the hole I had made in his face. It seemed like dead tissue, so we left it for the time being with a bandage to keep it from oozing more. The pain he was experiencing was concentrated only in that side of his head, and that drainage had definitely given him a few hours of relief.

By this time we were searching for ways to alleviate the pain. Dr. Anderson helped us contact hospitals around the country who dealt with pain management. In the early 1980s pain management was too new to have made enough progress to help us. We discussed with one doctor in Tennessee the possibility of cutting the nerve to that side of his face. Without seeing Steve, the doctor did not want to do something so drastic and permanent on such a young man. Dr. Anderson was letting them know that Steve needed pain relief, and permanent damage was not a consideration. Even discussing the options emphasized daily that there was no medical hope of Steve’s survival. For the time being, the best option was morphine shots, which soon gave way to a constant morphine drip. Dr. Anderson explained that the constant drip, which we put on a portable pump, would put Steve in a sort of deep sleep from which he may not awaken. My uncle, who died that fall from lung cancer, had been put on a similar drip for pain, so my dad was familiar with the procedure. Interestingly, Steve was able to walk around holding the pump. This surprised everyone, and Dr. Anderson said that pain was the antidote to the drug. The reason he was not in a semi-comatose state was explained by the extreme degree of pain he was having.

Within days of draining the opening on Steve’s face, the hole began to enlarge. There was no more white drainage; it was black inside. Every day it got bigger and bigger. The black matter inside began to seem to be pushed out by something deeper inside. We discovered that the aggressive tumor was actually pushing the tissue it was destroying literally out of his head. His eye actually disappeared in the ever-increasing mass. Each day became more of a challenge to figure out how to keep it covered and protected. The skin around it was still extremely painful. I remember talking with a burn specialist nurse somewhere up north. As I explained the situation I was trying to handle, she informed me that what I was describing was not possible for a living person to endure. Most of the medical professionals were not helpful as I tried to figure how to clean and dress this outward growth. They simply would not believe the situation. I was shopping around Luffey’s Medical Supply one day to see what other bandaging options were available. Steve did not feel like going around to let people give advice. The girl who worked at Luffey’s suggested the petroleum jelly-soaked gauze that was used on burn patients at that time. That turned out to be a good idea. It covered the hole, and did not stick to the good skin. By this time the growth outside of his head was about the size of half a grapefruit. He was beginning to have difficulty holding up his head at all. Swallowing was also extremely difficult, and I was putting most of his food into the blender.

My best friend’s mother, Genevieve McDuff, was a great blessing at that time. Her sister had died from cancer, and she constantly ministered to us in the practical ways that only someone who has been down that particular road can do. She brought soups and things that Steve could swallow that had good nutrition. Many people wanted to help, but just didn’t know what to do. Genevieve knew what to do, and she did it for us. I’m sure I never thanked her enough for her support during that time.

Our schedule was very odd at that time. We stayed home since I could administer all the drugs he needed. Dr. Anderson kept me stocked, even sending to Dallas for the large quantity of morphine Steve needed. I had a notebook full of the medicine schedule for each day. Many of the drugs he had to take could not be taken side by side, so it was a real juggling act to keep them all separate with the proper doses at the proper time. People would begin coming to see Steve as early as nine or ten o’clock in the morning. No matter how badly he felt, he still wanted to let people see how God was helping him through his illness. He always had a positive word, and people wanted to be around him. Many days the constant stream of company caused a tremendous physical toll. Late at night, when no one else was going to stop by, was a very peaceful time for both of us. We would be able to relax, and his pain would be much better. Often we stayed up until two or three o’clock in the morning to enjoy the quietness and pain relief. During the hectic days it was easy to push my anger and bitterness aside and pretend to be the faithful servant of God in front of our visitors. I knew it would look good on my spiritual resume. At night, Steve was so calm and relaxed that it had a calming effect on me as well. I knew he was still praying for my acceptance of God’s will.

At one point my Dad wanted to talk to me about my bitterness over the situation. My parents were well aware of my emotional state at the time. I calmly told my Dad that Steve’s last breath would be my next to last – I had all the drugs I needed to end my own life if God took Steve’s. My Dad had tears in his eyes as he asked, “Then what about me?” Even realizing the toll this was taking on them did not shake me out of my selfish fixation on my own plans for this life. An amusing part of the whole thing was how many people would remark to my parents how blessed Steve was to have such a strong Christian wife to support him. Even as people thought this, my parents knew I was not at all strong, and my religious humanism was failing me during this storm.

My mother is the type of person who can often get what she wants without seeming to try. I know she was praying deeply for me all the way down this road. One night she called me on the phone and wanted to bring over some tapes that she thought might help me. At that time I was in no mood to hear any spiritual messages. I had a nice wall built between God and me that I did not want to tear down. Ordinarily if you rebuff my mother in any way, she will not pursue you. But on this night, as I politely told her to keep the tapes for herself, she kept insisting that I let her bring them over. Steve was listening to the conversation, and he told me to stop being rude to her and let her bring whatever it was she wanted to bring. So I grudgingly told her if she had to, to come on. I fully expected her to say something along the lines of “maybe later at a more convenient time.” But instead she rushed right over with the offending tapes in tow. She even brought a tape player so I would have no excuses not to listen.

I hate to say what I had been doing for the past few weeks with all the “encouraging” books and letters people had been sending me. My depression was so deep that I did not even want to hear anything encouraging. So, while Steve would sleep, I would take bags full of cards, letters and books out to our trash can and burn them. It gave me a weirdly satisfied feeling to watch the words of well-meaning Christians burn, just like my own hopes and dreams were slowly being destroyed. I am ashamed now to admit I did that, and I am deeply sorry that I don’t even know what all I burned. I had never before had such deep despair in my life.

Now I did not dare to burn the things my mother brought. I knew she would ask about them later. I stuffed them in a box in our spare room, and determined to make endless excuses for not listening to them. Usually Sunday mornings were our only morning to rest and relax, as all of our usual company would be in church. Steve had long since been unable to attend church, so Sunday mornings were extremely relaxing for both of us. I am not much of a morning person anyway, so if I happened to wake up before Steve, I would lie still in bed until he woke to give him a few extra minutes of rest. One Sunday morning soon after my mother had brought the offending material over, I woke up and waited patiently for Steve to wake up. He never had very long sleep, since almost any movement would awaken him in pain. But this particular morning, he kept on sleeping. I lay there beside him for what seemed a very long time. Finally I was so restless that I decided to try to ease out of bed. I got up and padded quietly around our tiny house trying to think of something quiet to do. I tried to read a magazine, but I was too distracted. I kept thinking about the tapes my mother had brought. I was very determined not to listen to them, but the pull that morning was overwhelming. I thought about how happy my mother would be if I listened to even one tape. So finally I got up and fished them out of the mess in my extra room. I was so rebellious about the act of doing this, that I did not even look at any of the tapes, or what might be in the tape player.

The tape that was in the tape player was not one my mother had necessarily selected for me. It was one she had been listening to as she ironed. As she grabbed the tape player to bring with the tapes, she had not taken out what she was listening to. That morning I just pushed play, since I did not really care about any of it. The tape happened to be from a Christian women’s conference my mother had attended with her friends. This particular message happened to be Elisabeth Elliot. If you know anything about Elisabeth Elliot, you already see God’s hand at work. It was not even the beginning of her message – it was side two of the tape. She was in the middle of telling about a translation of the Bible that she had spent a large amount of time on that had been lost in an airport. She was posing the question of God’s sovereignty over her time, as well as the tribal people who would have to wait even longer to read the Bible in their own language. Her quiet and deliberate manner of speaking immediately captured my mind. She was bringing her message around to show that God is in charge of our lives, and He told us ahead of time to expect trouble in our lives here on earth. She described how God holds us in His hand, and nothing happens to us that He did not allow. By the end of that side of the tape, I was captivated by her straightforward manner in assessing God’s will in our lives. I flipped the tape over to listen to side one. All this time, Steve was still sleeping – a miracle in itself.

On side one, Mrs. Elliot described more of the events of her life. Her first husband had been speared to death by the Ecuador tribe he had gone to minister as a missionary to. Her second husband had died of cancer. Now, had I heard these things first, I would certainly not have listened to the rest of the tape. God knew the order I needed to hear. As she made her points about accepting God’s will, she used Jesus’ words to His disciples just before His crucifixion. Her paraphrase was this: some things will happen in your life that you didn’t want to happen; some things will not happen that you desperately wanted to happen; and people will let you down. By itself, it would not be a very encouraging word. But brought together with the facts of God’s infinite love for us and His determined plan for our lives to reflect the life of His Son, this message absolutely changed my life in those moments. I had never really considered yielding to God’s will. As I mentioned in the beginning, I was wrapped up in religious humanism – God is my lucky rabbit’s foot in my back pocket to take me to heaven when I die, but as long as I obey the Bible, the direction of my life is my own. In those moments I had to face the fact that God’s plan for my life was not my plan, and if I wanted the “peace that passes understanding”, I would have to yield to that plan. Amazingly, rather that despair over what that plan seemed to be at that time, I felt a profound peace settle over my soul.

After some time in prayer, the first thing I thought to do was to write a letter to a lady named Ann that I had never met. Ann was the daughter of a couple in our church who had faithfully prayed for us during Steve’s illness. Ann’s husband had died of a brain tumor, and she had written me numerous letters of encouragement. God had strengthened her during the storm of her life, and she shared that with me. Steve had been deeply encouraged by Ann’s letters, but you might guess how they affected me. Her outcome was not the one I was after, so when I could, I burned her letters. I had ignored every effort she had made toward me. So immediately after this profound, life-changing moment, I wanted to tell her what God had done for me. I don’t remember anything I wrote to her that day, but just that as soon as I was finished I heard Steve stirring in our room. I ran back to see if he was okay. The instant he saw my face, a big smile spread across his face. In that moment, he read on my face the answer to his prayers: peace in his wife’s heart.

It took a while each morning to attend to making Steve comfortable for the day. But as soon as he was settled he wanted to hear what had happened to me. It was a wonderful time for him as he quietly thanked God for answering his prayers for me. I had not realized what a burden my emotional state had been for him. Now our home truly would be a place of comfort and encouragement for the many people who came to offer those same things to us.

In the weeks that followed, God continued to show me that His grace was sufficient, that His strength was being made perfect in my weakness. That is the only explanation for how Steve and I managed during those days. Steve was comforted by the words of First Peter. I read those five chapters every day out loud to him. I was also reading I Came to Love You Late by Joyce Landorf about the story of Martha’s relationship with Jesus. Her testimony was similar to mine: “I don’t know why I came to love You so late, Lord, but I do love You.”

Just as Steve’s physical condition deteriorated, his spirit was more and more victorious. He was seeing firsthand how God could use him to further His kingdom. So many people were blessed by even a few minutes with him during his last weeks on earth. We continued to stay home, both of us desiring the somewhat more privacy there. We kept in close contact with Dr. Anderson. He began to encourage us to consider checking in the hospital toward the end. Steve and I discussed this at length very often. Steve was not one to push any issue to the side. If something needed to be dealt with, that was first on his agenda. He wanted to make good decisions in every area of his life, so he spent time discussing things, gathering information and thinking things through. Some things in his life he listened to counsel from others and made a completely different decision. After he made up his mind about something, he rarely changed. It would have been interesting to see how that played out in his life through the years. I often thought of him as a fairly stubborn man, but looking back now, I don’t see that as sharply as I often felt it at the time. He always wanted the best decision, even if it wasn’t his original idea. He loved discussing things with a variety of people, and he especially liked discussing things with my Dad. My Dad had a deep respect for Steve, even when he disagreed with him. While we were dating, if Steve and I had a disagreement about anything, I would often talk it over with my Dad. Dad almost always sided with Steve. If it was something Dad just could not agree with, he would say something like, “When I was twenty, I made a lot of mistakes too.” Usually this would infuriate me, since I consider my way the right way in most situations.

Anyway, back to the issue of staying home from the hospital. Both sets of our parents were supportive of Steve’s desire to stay home. But both sets of parents deeply wished we would stay at my parents’ house for extra help. Dr. Anderson had begun to describe the different scenarios for what his actual death may be like. None of them were very pleasant. Even though the tumor was now basically growing out of his head, I still didn’t consider his death that imminent. We were still matter-of-factly handling the challenges of the logistics of the disease. And as I mentioned, Steve’s personality and spirit were still well and fine.

One night, I was talking on the phone to my friend Andrea. I was in the front of the house, and Steve was in the back. All of a sudden I heard a gasping, choking sound from our room. I slammed the phone down, and ran back to check on him. He couldn’t seem to get his breath, so I called my parents. They were there within minutes. By that time Steve had settled into a coma-like state, unable to communicate. My Dad and I discussed all the different options. My mother was praying. We knew that Steve did not want to be put on any life-support machines, and Dr. Anderson had indicated that he would not recommend that anyway. After about an hour, Steve began to wake up, and he didn’t seem to remember what had happened. But he seemed fine, so my parents went back home, and we went to bed.

The next morning I told Steve about what had happened, and how scared I had been. He suggested we spend the next night at my parents’ house, in case something like that happened again. My Dad ordered two hospital beds to be put in their own bedroom, so Steve and I could both be comfortable. I’m sure Dad knew we would not be coming home again. He arranged for several of his friends to come over and help us move Steve to their house. Steve was in a good mood, as usual, and helped everyone feel as comfortable as possible, even though it was a tough, painful day. That was on a Wednesday. So we settled in at my parents’ to see what the next few days would hold.

On Thursday, Steve’s brothers from Houston had decided to drive up. Steve’s parents lived in Oak Grove, about an hour from my parents’ house. Of course they came every day, and they were all there that day. Steve seemed to get confused every once in a while. Talking was very difficult as a result of the invasiveness of the tumor. He wanted me right beside him all day.

An extremely interesting aspect of that day was what I initially thought was dreaming, or even hallucinating on his part. He would point to the corner of the ceiling and ask me who was there. I would tell him I didn’t know, and he would say, “Yes, you do know.” He would hold my face next to his and smile and wave at some invisible person, insisting that I knew who it was. Sometimes he would smile and wave at whoever he was seeing. Then he would want me to tell him who someone was. I had his morphine turned up fairly high to help him to stay as comfortable as possible, and I was trying not to make him feel like I thought he was losing his mind. I knew if I turned the morphine pump down he would have more pain, so I spent the day trying to decide if he would want me to turn it down so he could be more lucid. He did not seem too disturbed by his visions or the fact that communication was a little spotty, so I left it alone. Later, as I thought over what he was seeing, it occurred to me that he may have been seeing my grandmother and grandfather. As I mentioned earlier (way earlier!), he was very close to my grandmother, which might explain the smiles and waves. He had never met my grandfather, so he wanted me to tell him who that was. I don’t know whether that’s what was happening or not, but it brought a measure of comfort to me to see how excited he was to meet our loved ones on the other side of this life.

Later that night, after everyone had gone home, we began to settle in for the night. As I mentioned, we had spent a good deal of time discussing the logistics of his last days. I had privately tried to consider what I would need in those hours. In a way, I wanted to have our last hours as private as possible. But in another way I didn’t think I wanted to be alone with his body after he was gone from it. Again though, I still didn’t think his death was imminent. After closing the door to the bedroom, I had forgotten something in the kitchen. As I opened the door, I nearly tripped over my brother, who was lying on the floor crossways in front of the door. I asked him what on earth he was doing, and he told me he just wanted to be close in case I needed him for anything. I appreciated the thought behind it, but I thought it was pretty unnecessary. Then I noticed my mother was lying on the couch. I told them both to go to bed, that I would call them if I needed them, but they both insisted on staying where they were.

Not long into the night, Steve began reaching up for something unseen in the air. He wasn’t strong enough to hold his arms up by that time, so his hand would fall back on his face, causing pain. I was trying to hold his arms down gently, not knowing if he was dreaming or maybe hallucinating. After a little while I decided to call my mother and brother to help me. I lay on one side holding one hand, and my mother sat by the bed on the other side holding his other hand. He was wide awake and kept a pretty steady gaze on my face. His face was very peaceful, and I could see the deep well of love he had for me as he looked at me. I spoke softly to him all the words anyone want to say at the end of a precious relationship, although I still did not realize those would be the last words I would speak to him in this life.

Finally, around four o’clock in the morning, Steve began to have some labored breathing. My mother and I were still holding his hands, and my brother was standing at the foot of the bed. After only a few minutes, his breathing became more and more shallow. He was still looking in my eyes when suddenly, his last breath came, and the light went out of his eye. It was the clearest picture that I could describe of a person’s soul leaving their body. Thankfully, it was very peaceful and gentle on this side, as he stepped into the presence of the Lord.

My dad was up by this time, and he immediately called Steve’s parents. The call was not completely unexpected, but how can anyone prepare themselves to hear that their son is gone from this life? We called whoever it is you call when someone dies, and the men came to take his body away. They suggested that I go to another part of the house, but my dad told them I had gotten pretty used to that body, and it wouldn’t be a problem for me to stay where I was. I was profoundly grateful for a dad who could verbalize my needs at that moment. As they wheeled his body out, I had a great sadness in my heart, coupled with a sense of wonder over Steve finally being in heaven, without pain or medication, or even a tumor in his head. I lay down wearily on the couch and gratefully let my family take over the details that would have to be attended to in the next hours and days.

I really can’t begin to describe how God sustained me during those days. As I suppose anyone who has found God to be completely trustworthy can attest, He gently sustained me and comforted me in every way. Emotionally, I had already run the gamut of human grief, passing already the denial, anger, bitterness, and depression. The sense of peace that God had given me on the day I listened to Elisabeth Elliot’s message was even stronger as the days went on. I knew God was in charge of my path, and all I had to do was take the next step. And I know those steps had been made as easy as possible, even though they passed through the valley of the shadow of death.

Steve’s funeral seems almost surreal now. I remember strange details. We had the funeral in our church, and I was struck by the fact that less than a year before Steve and I had stood in the same place his casket was and vowed “till death do us part.” Looking back, it seems that there were about the same number of people at his funeral as had attended our wedding. Our pastor, Dr. John Traylor, and our beloved friend, R.C. Smith spoke at the service. My brother played the organ. My best friend Marilyn sat with me and my parents. Steve’s large extended family all came over to my parents’ house to eat the enormous amount of food that had been graciously brought by friends. We drove to Oak Grove, Louisiana, to Redwing Cemetery to bury the casket.

I remember one particular precious lady who spoke to me at the funeral home the night before the funeral. Many, many people were coming to encourage our families and me. It was a very long evening as I stood by Steve’s empty body and hugged all the people who came. I suppose in that situation most people must struggle with appropriate words of comfort. I know sometimes people comment on how good the deceased person looks. Those words certainly would not be spoken over Steve’s body. The funeral home had tried to convince me to close the casket for the visitation. But somehow, I just did not want to do that. I had grown very used to that body, and I needed to see it for a little while longer. I have a new compassion now for people’s decisions during a time of grief. And I do not regret doing what I wanted to do at that time. Since the tumor had grown out of his head, it was a bit of a problem for the funeral home people to figure out how to make him look presentable. At the time I did not think much about how strange his head must have looked to anyone who had not been around him. I had simply grown used to seeing him every day, and it was not disturbing to me. So they draped a handkerchief over half of his face, and that was fine with me.

So, back to the lady I remember. Her name was Mrs. Reeks. She had five daughters who were all named for Bible women: Hannah, Anna, Esther, Rachel and Deborah. Rachel and I had graduated high school together, and they were a precious Christian family. Their dad had died some years earlier, though I did not know the details. Many of the well-wishers who were at the funeral home that night said things like, “I know just how you feel, since I lost so-and so…” Every time someone said that, I felt a tiny pang of resentment. Of course they did not know how I felt. Either they had had many years with their loved one, or their loved one had died without as much suffering, or any other of a list of things that selfishly made my situation worse than theirs. A root of pride or selfishness or perhaps plain old self-pity was beginning to form that night. God would deal with me later on that issue. But He began His dealings with me through sweet Mrs. Reeks. That night, as she hugged me, she gently said, “Jodi, I can’t imagine how you must feel. I also lost my husband, but we had many years to share, and five wonderful children to help preserve and cherish his memory. I will be praying for you.” Actually, I don’t know if those were her exact words, but that is the message I remember. I will just always remember how she specialized my grief, and did not try to minimize it by saying her pain was equal to mine. She probably did, more than most of the others there, understand my sorrow. I will always be grateful for her encouragement to me that night.

Somehow I made it through that day and the next. I will always remember the feeling of utter aloneness. I certainly felt the strong presence of the Lord, and the love of my family and friends. But I suppose in the hours and days after Steve was gone, I learned the true meaning of “one flesh.” It felt as though one of my arms had been cut off. I was so used to discussing everything with Steve, that every conversation seemed empty and without meaning. I had to get used to not thinking what I would tell Steve about anything in particular. And it was more difficult and took longer than I would have imagined.

One blessing that stands out in my memory is the closeness I felt with Steve’s family during that time. I know we all needed each other, and we felt somehow connected to our precious memories of Steve through each other. The more they had gotten to know me, the more they accepted me and saw my deep love for Steve. I spent a lot of time with them and drew comfort from their love for me.

My own family was more solid and dependable than I could ever even describe. My Dad, my Mom and my brother all had personal missions to help me in every way possible. My mother made herself continually available to me as I sorted out my particular grief. My dad was constantly attending to details like where I would live and what to do with all of the pieces of our life. My brother wanted to take me with him almost everywhere he went. One particular blessing of that time was when he would take me with him to rehearse the organ for worship. I have very vivid memories of sitting in the large sanctuary of First Baptist, West Monroe (which is now a gym), with only the organ light on, listening to my brother’s practice. He practiced only late at night, when he could work out the notes privately in order to bring perfect praise to God on Sundays. He always ended those practice sessions with a time of personal praise, and those moments gave expression to some of the deepest emotions of my heart. I will always remember the fullness of Jay’s sharing that time with me.

Something else that stands out in my memory is a couple that Steve and I met on our honeymoon. Their names were Lawrence and Shirley Gee, and they were from Marlow, Oklahoma. We were sitting near them in the airport and struck up a conversation with them. We found out that they were Christians also, and they promised to ask their church to pray for us. They faithfully inquired about Steve’s prognosis over the next few months, and we received many notes of encouragement from them and from members of their church who were praying for us. I had last spoken to them several weeks before Steve died, and Steve had actually been doing some better at that time. I knew it would be quite a surprise for them to learn of Steve’s death. They were the only people in our life that would have to learn of the situation from me personally. So, for the first time, I had to think up the words to describe what had happened during those last few weeks.

Now here is the interesting thing about this letter. I mailed it, and didn’t think any more about it. The Gees sent back the appropriate sympathy and promises of continued prayer. Several months later Steve’s family started questioning me about a letter I wrote to someone in Oklahoma. It seems that my sister-in-law had been contacted by someone in Houston about where the letter came from. The Gees had made copies of the letter and sent it around to people who may have been praying for us. Eventually copies made their way to Houston, and back to Louisiana. I had not kept a copy of the letter. Twenty years later I met some new friends who questioned me about the letter when they found out my testimony. They had also been sent the letter when they were in college. I guess you never know what God uses for His kingdom’s work.

My dad was eager for me to get my life back on track. I think he sensed the danger of sitting around thinking about everything for too long. He had me come with them to church the day after the funeral to the singles class. That was a tough role to accept at that time, but it was my reality. So I accepted it and tried to move on. I went on several trips during the next few months and kept myself fairly busy.

Steve had really wanted me to go back to school as soon as possible. He had been only eight credit hours from graduating with a business degree from Northeast Louisiana University when he became sick. The head of the department of business had arranged for Steve to receive an honorary degree, which they brought to our house with a small ceremony. It meant a lot to Steve. So that fall I re-enrolled at Northeast and tried to concentrate on what to do with my life. I had ninety hours of elementary education, but Steve had suggested I try to major in something with which I could support myself. I tried a few business, art and writing courses, but I was having trouble focusing.

Exactly a year after Steve died, my brother Jay accepted the church organist position at the Second Baptist Church in Houston, Texas. It was one of the largest churches in the country, and Jay was looking forward to serving again with the minister of music, with whom he had served in Dallas. He wanted me to move to Houston with him in order to get out of Monroe for a while. He suggested coming for the summer, so I decided I would do just that. Lazing around the pool all summer seemed like just what I needed. I also began to look forward to being somewhere where no one knew that I was a widow. I was getting tired of continually trying to prove to everyone that I really was doing okay, and they could let me move on at my own pace.

Jay thought I really needed a job, so he helped arrange for me to be the children’s assistant for the summer. I had worked with children in our church in Monroe for several years as a Girls in Action leader and director. I had also taught children’s swimming lessons and even majored in elementary education. I enjoyed working with children already, so the job was a good fit. I liked my new boss Kathy Nelson immensely, and we immediately connected as good friends as well as fellow servants. Things were looking up for me as I settled into an exciting and exhausting ministry.

Something happened within days of starting my new job that had a profound effect on me. One day there was a funeral at the church. As I inquired about the deceased, I learned that it was young man who had had a heart attack during the last Lamaze class with his young wife, who was expecting their first child within weeks. I was overcome with the sadness of that situation. I realized at that moment how deeply I had held the selfish notion that my pain was somehow worse than anyone else’s. God broke that self-pity in that moment as I realized a new depth of pain that young widow would have to face. As I prayed for her, I asked God to forgive me for a festering sin that needed exposure in my heart. It was a new step closer to my heavenly Father.

Just weeks after arriving in Houston, Kathy’s husband Ricky accepted a job in Ruston, Louisiana, just thirty miles down the road from Monroe. Our pastor, Dr. Young thought I was the one to fill Kathy’s shoes. I was honored to be considered, and since the summer programs were under way, I agreed to help out for the summer. God sent some extraordinary women to minister with me there. Cynde Turnage and Kim Hansen were right there, already serving, and they helped me exceedingly, abundantly. I would say more than they could ever know, but they did know how much they helped me during my time there, as we served together.

One relief that living in Houston brought me was that I could choose to tell or not tell people I met about my situation. I had far less to prove there, and that was a new kind of relaxation for me. When someone asked me out for a date, I could say, “No, thanks” without everyone wondering if I was too mired in grief.

One day, a fellow staff member, James Green, asked me out to dinner. I am sure he was aware that I had not accepted any dates since moving to Houston. I believe he was simply curious as to whether he could be the one to get me to go out. Unfortunately, when I accepted the invitation, I didn’t realize it was an actual date. I assumed a lot of people were going out to dinner that night, as we commonly did after church on Sunday nights. I wondered why Kim gave me a funny look when I asked if she wanted to go too. I was parked beside James’ car, so even as we walked out, I was still clueless. When he opened the passenger side door of his car, I was dismayed to see roses on the seat. All of a sudden the situation crystallized, and I was mortified. It was a date.

I didn’t know exactly what to do to gracefully recover from this missed communication, so I just got in and chattered nervously for the next couple of hours. I never figured out any way to save face, so I just made the best of it. The next day I decided to tell him over lunch how things really were. It went something like this: “Look, you are a really nice person, but I really believe God wants me to remain single, and even if I did change my mind on that, I probably wouldn’t date you. Thanks anyway.” Now, unbelievably, James was thoroughly undaunted by my new revelation. In fact, I think he took it as a challenge to see if he could break through. So, over the next weeks and months, James set about to change my mind.

As time passed, I realized I was feeling less conspicuous as a new single person, as people began to notice James and me spending time together. I sensed the security that being in a relationship could bring, so I plunged in. James really wanted me to pray about our relationship. At first I told him I didn’t need to pray about it since I didn’t like him that much anyway. By the time I really prayed about it, I think I was already grasping at a different type of security - one I didn’t expect to need. I remember telling my mother that I didn’t think I could like James seriously, since he was so different from Steve. I think I was looking for a legitimate tranquilizer for my disappointment in life. I think James was reveling in being the one to break through my shell. I think neither of us truly saw the other for who we really were.

So, these are my early years, at least the first 23 years. James and I married the next year in Houston. I will write more later on how God has developed our faith during the past 31 years of a challenging marriage.

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