I stood awe-struck, curiously watching him. Something
wasn’t right. Even at the tender age of five, I could tell my father
was not himself. He thought he was alone, and was listening to music
that I had heard played at church. He was sitting on a blue and white
floral couch, clutching his hair and shaking very slightly. The sound
seemed to pour over him like a warm blanket. His shoulders were alive
with the music, shrugging up and down most peculiarly. I had never seen
my father act so strangely, so I ran to him and jumped into his lap. I
looked up into his face, saw red, swollen eyes, and immediately
realized what was wrong.
“Dad, the music is too loud,” I said, “it’s making your eyes water.”
You see, I couldn’t understand that my father was
crying. I didn’t even consider the option that perhaps he was fallible,
just like me. I was simply unable to grasp the gravity of the
situation.
crying. I didn’t even consider the option that perhaps he was fallible,
just like me. I was simply unable to grasp the gravity of the
situation.
He looked back at me and quickly wiped away his tears.
I could tell he was shocked to see me, but I immediately felt his
tender appraisal. He was smiling now, and I knew I must have done
something right as he embraced me with his powerful arms.
I could tell he was shocked to see me, but I immediately felt his
tender appraisal. He was smiling now, and I knew I must have done
something right as he embraced me with his powerful arms.
As I later discovered, my father had been diagnosed with a
terminal cancer. At the time, he was going through chemotherapy. At his
absolute lowest point, while feeling both miserable and dejected, he
had sat down to listen to worship music. As he clutched at his hair in
pain, he could feel strands of it falling out. He began to sob as he
felt his life collapsing around him. With eyes closed, he prayed — no,
pleaded — for help. In total brokenness, he sat and wept. Yet in that
very moment, his youngest son suddenly clambered up into his lap and
somehow reminded him how to smile.
terminal cancer. At the time, he was going through chemotherapy. At his
absolute lowest point, while feeling both miserable and dejected, he
had sat down to listen to worship music. As he clutched at his hair in
pain, he could feel strands of it falling out. He began to sob as he
felt his life collapsing around him. With eyes closed, he prayed — no,
pleaded — for help. In total brokenness, he sat and wept. Yet in that
very moment, his youngest son suddenly clambered up into his lap and
somehow reminded him how to smile.
I now believe that God can work good from any situation. He was miraculously cured of cancer, and it never returned, and he devoted his life to serving God. He became a pastor. He claims that cancer was the best thing that ever happened
to him. I want to share the impact that this sort of change makes in a
young boy. It is only now when I look back that I see how much my life
has changed because of something that seems so terrible at first
glance. Because of his bout with cancer, he took off a year of work.
During that time, he spent many days at home. Had illness not occurred,
I would not have had the same
fatherly influence that I now have had. He was able to sit down with
me, day after day, and instill in me his Godly values that I so
cherish. He taught me to be gentle and patient, and above all else, to
have faith. Cancer changed my father’s life, and consequently, mine
too. I remember seeing his strength as I witnessed his recuperation. He
has now fully recovered, save a paralyzed diaphragm and a damaged voice (he had
a tumor the size of a football in his chest, despite never having drunk
alcohol or having smoked tobacco).
to him. I want to share the impact that this sort of change makes in a
young boy. It is only now when I look back that I see how much my life
has changed because of something that seems so terrible at first
glance. Because of his bout with cancer, he took off a year of work.
During that time, he spent many days at home. Had illness not occurred,
I would not have had the same
fatherly influence that I now have had. He was able to sit down with
me, day after day, and instill in me his Godly values that I so
cherish. He taught me to be gentle and patient, and above all else, to
have faith. Cancer changed my father’s life, and consequently, mine
too. I remember seeing his strength as I witnessed his recuperation. He
has now fully recovered, save a paralyzed diaphragm and a damaged voice (he had
a tumor the size of a football in his chest, despite never having drunk
alcohol or having smoked tobacco).
I believe all people are born with an inherent
doubtfulness. It is, after all, only human to question oneself. But
what if we truly believe that we could always be wrong about
everything? Can we be sure
about anything? Growing up, I have often wondered if it would be
appropriate for a Christian to think that he or she could be wrong that
there is a God. Would such thinking constitute a lack of faith?
Whenever I wrestle with these questions, I inevitably
retrace my convictions to those days when my father was very ill. If we
had abandoned faith, would he be where he is today? Would I? I thank
God for showing me, in a way I could understand, how important faith
really is. Either we stand for something or we will fall for anything.
doubtfulness. It is, after all, only human to question oneself. But
what if we truly believe that we could always be wrong about
everything? Can we be sure
about anything? Growing up, I have often wondered if it would be
appropriate for a Christian to think that he or she could be wrong that
there is a God. Would such thinking constitute a lack of faith?
Whenever I wrestle with these questions, I inevitably
retrace my convictions to those days when my father was very ill. If we
had abandoned faith, would he be where he is today? Would I? I thank
God for showing me, in a way I could understand, how important faith
really is. Either we stand for something or we will fall for anything.
Thank you for reading,
A
