The other day, my teammates and I had the opportunity to go to a small village in Moldova near Ungheni. The town is plagued with widespread cancer, and no one can figure out exactly why. But in a town of around 200 people, over 40 have cancer. That's one in every five people there. We went with our pastor to a gathering in a local school building that was celebrating those people's lives who were suffering.
As we stepped into the large room, a group of singers were performing a beautiful Moldavian song alongside a man with an accordion. I could feel their emotion as they sang, eyes closed, with sweet harmonies – and I scanned the room. About thirty men and women sat listening. Some were bobbing to the melody, others were quietly reflecting, while a few women sniffled and held handkerchiefs to their eyes.
During our time there, we shared about The World Race, and why we had come to Moldova. To somehow encourage and uplift people like them… people who had been through so much more than I can even imagine. They listened, laughed at our corny jokes, and asked questions.
There was a particular woman who drew our attention. She had the face of a mother; gentle, soft – yet very worn and lived-in. She had tan skin, dark eyes, and a scarf tied tightly around her head. She sat quietly listening to the songs – noticeably soothed by the music – and every once in a while, a satisfied smile would sneak onto her face.
After the meeting, my teammate Monica went to her. "I was drawn to pray for you," she said. Asking if she could pray, the woman quickly nodded. As Mon held her hand to pray, our translator spoke the words she was praying. Tears began to roll down the woman's face. Feeling the particular need to pray for the woman's family – Monica began praying over the specific needs and struggles she was feeling for the woman and her family.
After the prayer, the woman repeatedly kissed Monica's cheek, her hand, and said, "thank you, thank you." Her face was still moist with tears as she stepped away to begin cleaning up the remaining food from the event. A few minutes later, another woman came up to Monica and I.
"I want to tell you that woman's story," said the woman.
"Her name is Ana. Two years ago, her husband died of cancer. She has three children. Recently, she discovered that she and all three of her children tested positive for hepatitis. Her daughter has the worst effects, and they are in the hospital more frequently than home. Ana doesn't know how long she will live, but has been fighting so hard to give her children the best life she possibly can while they are alive."
———————————————————– Ouch.
Even as I write this and think about this woman's story, my heart is so broken. How can there be this kind of pain in the world? Why do people have to suffer so deeply? I want to understand this. I want to have some clear and simple explanation for her about why things are like this now and how they will get better.
But I can't.
I don't have that authority, I can't make those promises.
All I can do is pray for her, and believe that God is a big God and knows her story – knows her suffering.
There are two references in the Bible about how God not only has our names written in the Book of Life (Luke 10:20), but has accounted for literally every tear that falls from our eyes, and collects each one in a bottle (Psalm 56:8). I have this crazy mental picture of what it will be like to get to heaven and see my 'bottle' labeled 'SHELLI' with a thousand tears inside.
"See, Child?" I can hear God saying. "I know the story regarding every single one of these tears. I was there with you. I was hurting, too."
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I don't know why a beautiful woman like Ana has to suffer. I don't know why there is cancer. Why we have bombings. Why people murder each other and destroy, manipulate, and discriminate. I hate that this is part of the world I live in. I hate the darkness that is all around me, all the time – but I can't deny that it exists. I can't pretend that I live in some rose-colored paradise where nobody aches, nobody suffers, nobody makes mistakes or begs for mercy.
But what I do know is, when we are in the eye of the storm – there is an anchor, a lifeboat – that is promised to us. By holding on tight (even when we have to hold on with all our might), we are promised that we will be comforted and held. "This hope is an anchor for the soul.." (Hebrews 6:19)
Please pray for Ana.
I am praying for a miracle for her, that God will lift this weight and suddenly, she will be hepatitis-free – she and everyone in her family. I am praying for health, life, vitality, and blessing over her and her children. I am praying that God will richly supply all her needs through His glorious riches. I am praying that she will never know physical need, never again feel the pangs of hunger, or the ache or a longing, broken heart. I am praying that she will never have to go without the food, water, or medication her family needs. But that even if she is never physically healed of hepatitis, that she will know the healing that can happen in her heart – and always have a heart full of hope, knowing that there is an incredible, good God who collects every tear. Thank you for your prayers!
