Sowing in the Shadows
My journey of faith has been one of many ups and downs, times of growth and setbacks, times of obedience, half-obedience and full-tilt rebellion. I am learning that as I move through my journey, Jesus, my Lord and Savior, is the only constant. Jesus loves me, and at the end of the day, when I climb into bed, He is there. When I arise, He is still with me. When I walk through the tasks of my day, He is right there with me, seeking to guide me.
The last few years of my journey have been particularly challenging. They were a sharp contrast to the beginning of my walk with Jesus. When I first began my journey in 1990, I was so filled with God’s love and a sure knowledge of His presence, I told everyone I knew about Him. I was living a blessed life. The outward hardships of single parenthood and financial instability were not enough to dampen my enthusiasm or call into question the profound love that I had discovered. Those early days were filled with wonder, as I grew in my faith daily, seeing my Jesus meet my every need as He worked in and through my life. I literally walked through my days in the awareness of God’s presence and love. I was a very new believer and had a lot to learn. I was eager to learn and to grow, but that eagerness paled in comparison to my strong desire to share my faith with the people in my life who meant the most to me.
Some of the most amazing moments of my life took place in those first few years as I had the awesome opportunity to pray with several friends, family members, even strangers as they accepted Jesus as their Lord. Nothing could have prepared my heart for the overwhelming joy of leading another to Jesus. And it seemed to me that, well, I was good at it! Okay, that doesn’t sound very humble, but the results can’t be ignored. Not one of the people I told about Jesus had refused to accept Him during this brief early period of my faith journey. None! Looking back now, I realize that God was leading me to people whose hearts were ready to accept Him. He was building a foundation He knew I would need when it came time to share my faith when it mattered most to me. As a young believer, I just assumed that was the way things would always be. I mean, who in their right mind could refuse to accept Jesus once they heard of His great love for them, His forgiveness of sins, His great sacrifice, and the fact that He created them and has a plan for their life? Who could refuse Him?
Well, believe it or not, some people could refuse Him. In fact, some of the people that meant the most to me in my life have refused Him. About three and a half years into my journey, I received a phone call from my sister. She told me that my Aunt Willetta, my favorite aunt, was dying. She was expected to live only a few more weeks. I was devastated by this news. She was funny, creative, beautiful and only 41 years old. She had lived a very difficult life and a life of rebellion against God. I knew she needed to know Jesus and fast! After fasting and praying for three days, I made a trip to the Bay Area to see her. I also felt compelled to stop by a jail an hour south of my destination to visit my cousin Todd, who was being held because of drug-related crimes he had committed. I knew Todd would need to be comforted in light of his mother’s prognosis, and I was confident that Todd would want to accept Jesus as his Savior, given the dire circumstances of his life. So, I went to see Todd first. All my friends were praying for me.
I had never seen the inside of a jail before. It was awful. I remember waiting in line with all these young women, screaming babies and toddlers all around us. I wanted to tell all of them they didn’t have to live this way, but, I stayed focused on my mission and waited to see Todd. When they finally escorted me back to the visiting area, I was disheartened. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this was not it. I had to wait in a little booth with nothing but a stool, a phone and very thick glass. There were several similar booths in a row. I waited in painful, prayerful silence. A uniformed guard led Todd to me. He picked up his phone and we began our conversation. I asked how he was doing. He said he was fine. In fact he had all these grand plans for his life after jail. He said he wanted to write, maybe pursue an education. We spoke of his mother. I don’t think he really believed that she would lose her life. He was very confident in himself. Then I told him about Jesus. He said, “That’s great for you, but I really don’t need any help. I am doing just fine without Jesus.” I was floored. I guess he couldn’t see his life from the view I had. I saw this young man whose life was on the fast track to nowhere. Yet he was so full of pride. I remember thinking, “How can anyone have so much pride from that side of the glass?” His mother has just been diagnosed with a terminal illness and he won’t even be out of jail to see her before she passes. My heart was broken, for him and for his decision.
After I left, I headed straight to my Aunt Willetta’s house. Still rocked from Todd’s outright refusal of Jesus, I prayed through my tears all the way there.
When I saw my aunt, I was startled. It had been several months since I had last seen her and she had really deteriorated. Her skin was yellow because her liver was failing. She had sores all over her arms and neck. She looked so frail and lifeless, nothing like the outgoing, boisterous woman I had always known. I was very fearful. I remember praying silently as I sat beside her. We talked about her health and her fears. I walked her through the verses in my Bible that made clear her need for a Savior. She listened intently, even agreeing with me at times. When I asked her if she knew she was a sinner, she acknowledged her sin. When I shared with her the remedy for sin, she told me she just couldn’t accept Jesus. I rephrased my question and received the same answer. It was an unswerving no! When I realized that she meant “No,” I had no choice but to leave, Bible in hand, head hung low.
My aunt astonished her doctors by living a full 18 months longer than expected. I saw her several times and tried in vain to steer the conversation towards her need for salvation. In the end, I could only pray for her and with her, on those occasions that I saw her.
I received a call from my sister that my favorite aunt had passed away while I was at a wedding in Seattle. I was not with her in her final days or moments. I have no knowledge that she accepted the Gift during that time. The news of her death hit me very hard. Our entire family was rocked with grief, especially my grandparents. I had few words with which to offer comfort, because I believed my aunt had perished unsaved and was therefore separated for all eternity from God. The pain of her decision pummeled me. I felt that I had failed. Somehow I blew it. Had I said the right thing or done the right thing, the outcome would have been so different. I knew that God’s plan is that none should perish, but all would come to eternal life. And I knew that each person has a choice and a free will with which to make that choice. But, I felt the weight of this failure as if it were my own. Sadly, it was quite some time before I braved the waters of evangelism again. The idea of sharing my faith and being personally rejected was more than enough to quiet me.
Somehow, over the next few years, I did have the privilege of praying with two relatives as they accepted Jesus. One was my grandmother the night before she died. It was the most heartless sharing of the Gospel you could imagine. I was so fearful she would say no that I really didn’t put much into it. But, in God’s great mercy and according to His plan, she accepted Jesus and I was assured that we would see each other again.
Several years later, I was sitting in a Bible class studying I & II Corinthians, minding my own business when God spoke so clearly to me about my Aunt Willetta that I literally sat there and wept. We were studying this passage:
“I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor. For we are God's fellow workers….” (I Corinthians 3:6-9 NIV)
God spoke to my heart, impressing upon it that I do not know the outcome of Willetta’s decision. That was left up to her and in His hands. I realized through this verse that perhaps I was only sowing a seed, or maybe watering it, but God in the end was the one posing the question to her. Did she ever accept him? I probably will never know this side of heaven, but I learned something very important that day: Salvation is God’s plan. He loves His creatures so much, that He sent His Son to die for us. He loves us so much that He sends believers to sow and water seeds of His love into our life to aid us in our decision process.
This knowledge would be my cornerstone of strength in the greatest trial in my life. A trial that I didn’t know was right around the corner.
My Dad, my precious Dad, was diagnosed with cancer. I knew that Dad did not know Jesus by the life that he led, and any time I had tried to share my faith with my Dad, he would manipulate the conversation, change the subject or downplay what I was sharing. I began to pray fervently for my Dad’s healing and salvation. I enlisted the prayers of anyone and everyone who would listen to my pleas. But something had happened to me over the years. I didn’t have the faith to believe that God would save my Dad. I knew that He could. I never doubted that, but because my faith was weakened in this area, fear had taken hold.
Initially, Dad was upbeat. He was certain he could beat this. He was young, only 58 years old when diagnosed. He was strong and incredibly strong-willed. Surely, if anyone could survive colon cancer, it was Dad. He had surgery to remove the tumor, and then underwent chemotherapy “just to be sure” that no more cancer cells were lurking about. On my birthday that year, my Dad had his re-check. He was declared cancer free. He would have to be checked every six months for the first five years and then would be considered out of danger. We could all breathe deeply for the first time in weeks!
Two months later, the day after Thanksgiving, my Dad was in terrible pain. Somehow, he had broken a rib. His wife, Kathy took him to the hospital, where they took an x-ray and then ran a few other tests. Kathy called me so hysterical, that all I could make out of her words were “Mercy General.” I went directly there.
The doctors had found a tumor the size of a cantaloupe attached to the outside of his colon. The test two months earlier had been an internal test, a colonoscopy, which was unable to detect this tumor. This horrible menace to my Dad’s health, to his very life, had grown so large against his ribcage that a rib actually broke. I was with my Dad and his wife when they first spoke with the doctor. She told us what was happening and that further testing had revealed the cancer had also invaded his lungs, liver and pancreas. Without using the words, she told us Dad would never beat this cancer. Surgery was scheduled for the next day. I took Dad and Kathy’s hands and petitioned God to heal Dad, to comfort Dad and Kathy and to reveal His love and grace to them. I remember walking on trembling legs back to my car. Somehow through the rain and the tears, I managed to drive home. Broken.
Dad’s surgeon was a Christian. He was compassionate and kind and highly recommended. I have no doubt that he did all he could. When he met with us after the surgery, he said that he was not able to get all of the cancer, he could see it, but he could not remove all of it from the liver, it would be too risky. He said that the surgery would buy Dad some time. Maybe another round or two of chemo would buy some more time. It would have to be weighed against the quality of life Dad would have while undergoing such aggressive treatment. All we could hope for was time. The doctors predicted less than six months.
Life became a blur of doctor’s visits, researching alternative therapies, chemo treatments, praying, crying, hoping and feeling hopeless. I prayed more for my Dad’s salvation than I had ever prayed in my life. Everyone I knew was praying fervently for his salvation.
For many months, Dad was in denial about his terminal diagnosis. He felt no immediate need to seek God and continued to rebuff my efforts at sharing the Gospel with him. He continued to work as long as he was able. I knew his time was short and I prayed with all that was in me for his salvation, but during those months, he never budged. I would sit with him through doctor’s appointments and chemo sessions, taking every opportunity to show him my love and the love of Jesus. Dad’s oncologist also happened to be a Christian. I hoped his kind, compassionate spirit would help to influence Dad. I knew this doctor’s heart was in the right place, but he would have no influence on Dad. Nor would I influence him. When all efforts at slowing the growth of the cancer had failed, I invited two pastors from church to meet Dad and share the Gospel with him, Dad’s response was, “Oh, I know all that. I accepted Jesus years ago.” Then he went on to talk about his life and how he had conquered other things in his life and was not about to be defeated by cancer. (He made these declarations from a hospice bed, by the way.) I felt he only said that to shut me up, (which at this point was hard to do!) and to prevent future visits from the pastors. I was so beaten emotionally that I was really beginning to lose hope. But, I was about to see God in a way that I had never seen him before.
A sweet sister in the Lord gave me some advice. She said that if he claims to be a believer, pray with him as though he were a believer, talk with him as though he were a believer, read the Bible to him as if he were a believer. I was definitely at the end of my resources. I didn’t know what else to do, so I took her advice. I would take his hand and pray every opportunity I had.
Dad was beginning to get discouraged. There were days when he didn’t want me to come to see him. Sometimes he would be irritable and short-tempered with me. That was really hard on me. I wanted so much for our time together to be pleasant, but I sure couldn’t blame him. I remember driving to his house one day, crying out to God as I drove, “I can’t do this! I just can’t do this anymore! I can’t go see Dad and feel rejected because he doesn’t want me there and because he doesn’t want YOU there! I just can’t do it. God, you have got to do something! I can’t live with the knowledge of my Dad’s eternal separation from you! I can’t!” When I got quiet, God answered me. He didn’t coddle me like I wanted, but in the stillness of the moment, the words, “The gates of hell will not prevail…” entered my mind. God knew in that moment that I needed those words more than any other He could have sent me, because I knew that the gates of hell were holding my Dad captive. I also knew that God’s goal for mankind is that we would all come to know Him. I knew that the mission of every Christian is to storm the gates of hell and free the captives, by the power of God’s Word and Holy Spirit. My strength for the battle was renewed and I drove to Dad’s house. It was no longer my battle. The battle belonged to the Lord.
I began to pray even more fervently with my Dad, and I decided to begin reading the book of John to him every time I was in his presence. The first couple of times I asked him if I could read the Bible, he would make some excuse why I couldn’t read to him. He was tired or hungry or wanted to watch Dr. Phil. So, before long, I quit asking. I would turn off Dr. Phil and sit beside Dad and read to him. Sometimes he would fall asleep while I was reading (or maybe, he pretended to fall asleep), but I would just read to him anyway. I know that God’s Word never returns void, so I trusted that God was speaking to my Dad. And from my own experience with the book of John, I knew that God was pouring out His love through those words.
Many days into this routine, I actually asked Dad for permission to read to Him. He looked at Kathy and for a moment, I thought he was going to say “No.” But Kathy said to him, “You really like it when she reads to you, don’t you?” She turned to me before he could answer and explained to me that Dad had told her how comforting it was and how much he looked forward to it. I knew that a change was taking place in Dad’s heart.
Dad’s health was diminishing. Many miracles took place in the last week of his life. Dad was reconciled to two of my siblings who had not spoken to him for many years. Although my parents had been divorced for over 20 years, my Mom was there helping us all to cope with this loss. We had times of sharing stories and times of just quietly being together. It was the hardest time of my life. The day before he passed, my Dad lost the ability to speak, something I had not anticipated, and something that was incredibly painful for all of us. But I asked him if he had accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior and he nodded affirmatively. I asked him if he knew his sins were forgiven and he nodded again. I asked him if he was ready. He said in a very raspy voice that was inaudible to everyone in the room but me, “I’m afraid.” Every “fear not” verse I had ever read raced through my mind and I did the best I could to comfort my Dad and assure him that he did not have to be afraid. I reminded him that his sins were forgiven and that Jesus would meet him with love and compassion. I played some soothing music to help comfort Dad with the message of Jesus’ love. Over the next several hours, he seemed more peaceful. And when my Dad took his last labored breath, he did so to the sounds of “It Is Well With My Soul.” And I knew that it was.
Six months after my Dad’s entrance into eternity, I attended a family reunion. I hadn’t seen my cousin Todd for quite some time. When I saw him he took my hand and asked me to walk with him. With a hint of a smile he asked me if I remembered visiting him in jail. Of course I did! He explained that he had not been ready to open his heart up to God. He told me that he couldn’t believe what a fool he had been. He said that the words I spoke to him had stayed with him. While in jail, he had the opportunity to learn more about the love of Jesus through a volunteer drug counselor. Not only had he given his life to Jesus, he was now working with other young men with drug problems as their counselor, helping them to turn their lives over to Jesus. He wanted me to know because he knew I would be happy for him. And I am.
Beth
