Recently, I was asked how my trial with terminal liver cancer has impacted my view of the cross.  Hmm.  I had not thought about that.  A few minutes of contemplating the idea brought this answer: it has not impacted my view of the cross at all.  Christ was my Savior before the cancer, and He is still my Savior.  There, question answered.  However, as weeks and months passed, my thoughts continued to return to the idea that perhaps my perspective should be changed by my trial.  My prayers often lifted this question to God, “Should this cancer impact my view of the cross?”  Of course it should!  Every experience allowed by our Creator should impact our view of the cross.  Shouldn’t it?  So I began to consider the question more deeply …

I had always viewed the sacrifice made by Jesus on my behalf to be beyond my comprehension or understanding.  How could anyone knowingly face such horrors?  And face them not for personal gain, but to allow me, an ordinary and sinful girl, to join Him in paradise for eternity?  No, I could not possibly understand.  But through faith, I was able to accept and be overwhelmingly thankful for this most generous gesture that would prove to be the greatest of all gifts.  My present suffering, physical, emotional, and spiritual, has somehow allowed me a glimpse of what he endured.  I do not pretend to relate to His sufferings regarding the cross, but I know while God has protected me from the point of suffering that I could no longer endure, that protection was not afforded His Son, who willingly endured so much more for me.  It is only by His wounds that I have been spiritually healed.  It is only through the cross that I have been offered amazing grace.  Through my suffering these lessons have become more present and more pronounced in my life, and my appreciation for my Savior has increased exponentially.  Each individual pain I have endured has become a powerful reminder of God’s love for me.  Romans 8:18 explains, “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” 

My suffering has showed me that not only do I need the cross for my salvation, but I also need the cross to push through this life on earth with joy and with peace.  “Cancer” is a frightening word.  When I was first told I had cancer, it was believed that the primary tumor was completely removed and no metastases were present.  There was no reason to believe my trial would continue beyond that initial surgery.  Yet still, the word “cancer” brought uncontrollable sobbing.  Despite the surgeon’s emphatic assurance that I was cured, the sobbing simply would not subside.  I knew in my head that my sudden and acute fear was unfounded, but I simply could not control the fear brought on by the word “cancer.”  In time, as I learned to entrust Christ with my fears of cancer and of the unknown, I gained a great peace and a great joy.

Cancer is no longer frightening.  Death is no longer frightening.  The power of death has been conquered by the cross.  I have nothing to fear, I have only a longing for what awaits me when God brings me home.  This longing, this lack of fear, this joy that now permeates my life far more than before the cancer … this is true power found only in the cross.  Remember, “We rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, HOPE” (Romans 5:3-4).

This month's devotional is written by Aaron Hedges, who served as Inheritance of Hope's Managing Director from August 2008-December 2009.   He continues to be integral to the ongoing success of this organization.

John 12:24 – “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

Andrew and I grew up together, becoming friends in elementary school and continuing our friendship through middle and high school in soccer, classes, and church service.  We went to different colleges, but we were only about thirty minutes apart, so we still saw each other occasionally.  During college, Andrew was diagnosed with spinal cancer.  The disease was terrible, and so were many of the treatments he went through, but Andrew had great faith and hope.  Even as the disease progressed, Andrew grew and grew in the full fruit of God’s Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  He seemed to miss no opportunity to use his story to encourage other people facing hardship.  No doctor or fellow patient in any hospital was exempt from hearing and seeing God’s love and goodness when Andrew was there.  I, like every single other person who knew Andrew, marveled at his commitment to God.

One day toward the end of our college careers, Andrew and I were both at home and sat together at a Sunday morning worship service.  Our pastor was teaching about prayer, and at one point he set the theological discussion aside and got very personal, very practical.  He said that if you want to pray dynamic, bold, powerful, life-and-world-changing prayers, you should pray that God would make you more like Jesus.  I thought to myself that it was a strong point, not something to be taken lightly.  Andrew leaned over and whispered to me, “I prayed that, and then I got cancer.”

In that instant, I was impressed, crushed, and scared.  I knew that God’s will for His people is to reflect His image, and no one did it better than Jesus.  I  knew that  I should pray to be more like Jesus.  I knew that God had in fact answered Andrew’s prayer and made him more like Jesus, and I knew he could do that for me too.  I knew . . . but I was afraid.

I did not pray that prayer on that day, or the next, or on many, many more that followed.  I certainly prayed a lot, and I even prayed for God to grow me as a man in His image and for Him to build various Christ-like qualities into me, but I could never open myself to the huge, risky potential of simply being more like Jesus regardless of how it happened.

The fear of that prayer never left me; it seemed that God would never let me go too long without it coming back to my mind.  When I got news that Andrew had died on October 22 this past year, it came rushing back, stronger than ever.  Before I could deal with that, though, I had to mourn my friend’s passing.  I spent a morning on the bank of the Hudson, and God was good to me.  He reminded me of His presence and provision through the mountains with remaining touches of fall color, the steady flow of the powerful river, a particularly strong wind, inspired music, a loving Christian brother on the phone, and – most of all – Scripture.  1 Corinthians 15 was already amazing to me, but as I read it that morning it was richer than anything I could have imagined.  It filled me like a feast; it stirred life inside of me.  When I was done reading that chapter, I can honestly say that I was satisfied.  It was good.

Not many days later, as I was gradually reading through the gospel of John, I read the verse quoted above, and I knew once again what I had to do.  This time, though, I was going to go beyond knowing.  John 13:17 – “Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.”  God had given me confidence to act.  Andrew had been an amazing man, yet he was only a single seed.  His death was going to bear fruit, starting with me.  Soon after, in the comforting presence of a faithful and loving friend, I prayed that God would make me more like Jesus, whatever that might look like.  I opened myself for Him to do whatever He wants with me.  The fear was still there, and so were many tears, but trust in God’s goodness was greater.  “Though He slay me, yet I will hope in Him” – Job 13:15.

Andrew was a good friend, a good man.  He loved God.  He loved Him enough to pray a radical prayer.  He loved Him enough to live out God’s answer to that prayer to the fullest.  His life was Christ-like.  Even his death is Christ-like: it is not the end of his purpose.  The seed of Andrew’s life was filled with Jesus.  May it bear much fruit.

In loving memory; to God be the glory . . .