I Will Walk with You

You might not have realized that Rheumatoid Arthritis can be deadly. You might have thought of it in terms of aching hands or knees as one grows older. When I tell people that my wife died of RA, they sometimes look at me quizzically as if I’d just told them she’d died of a splinter.
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One of the greatest pains Barbara endured in her final years had nothing to do with the physical. In fact, we had both felt a peace that God HAD healed her, and that the remainder of our struggle together was something we would willingly submit to God so that others might know more about Him. The greatest pain was not being able to hold her grandchildren. I never took for granted that when I held those warm bodies close to me, I had a privilege that she was only able to enjoy vicariously through me. Even now the pain I saw in her eyes brings me to tears.

Jackie, our daughter, and her family were home with us for Christmas of 2014. It was also the celebration of our 25th anniversary. The grandkids, ages 1 and 2, were such a special treat. One evening something completely unexpected happened as our grandson was being put to bed. He gave me a big hug and kiss. Then to our amazement, as I held him close to Barbara, he wouldn’t let her go. He held on to her gently but firmly. With me supporting his weight, he laid his little head on her shoulder and began to breathe heavily. Barbara began to cry. I began to cry. Jackie began to cry. My arms were beginning to cramp holding him like that, but I determined that they would have to fall off of my body before I’d end this precious moment. Barbara got to hold that little boy that night, and it is an event etched in my memory as in granite.
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In ’06, during the 8 month hospital stay, Barbara died twice (and nearly a third time). She came back telling about seeing a very beautiful woman walking towards her. When she asked who the woman was, she was told, “It’s you.”

Barbara stepped into the body of that beautiful woman she had long been anticipating on February 26, 2015. She was 51 years old. On earth, she was beautiful. Today, she is beautifully perfect. Running, dancing, worshiping, maybe even driving cars. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she gets regular visitation with the grandbabies, though that’s not orthodox theology – just a musing from the heart of a child of a Father who loves to give good gifts.

The hardest thing I ever had to do for Barbara was to walk her home that day. I think I must’ve placed her hand into Jesus’ hand and said, “Here’s my precious angel.”

“I know,” He would have responded. “And I love her more than you can imagine.”
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You need to know this: you can live, you can thrive, you can enjoy the full of life even in the midst of great sorrow. Our great hope is not lost, and God still loves you deeply. Though our bodies, our fragile containers, were not made to last, we have a certain hope of so much more.

As you follow Christ to the side of those who are hurting, you will hurt with them. It’s an interesting paradox that in being strong for others, we in turn must face our own weakness. There is nothing at all wrong with that. We might easily remind each other that it’s through our own weakness that we are compelled to lean on the strength of God. That’s true, but I also see something different at work.

I understand that the poem “Footprints In the Sand,” has been a meaningful piece of contemporary poetry for many. It has been displayed on the walls of many households of believers.

My father, in his struggle with cancer, referenced how meaningful it had been to him.

In the poem, a man looks back over his life, represented by a beach. He sees two sets of footprints, his and God’s. However, at the times of his greatest struggle he only sees one set of footprints in the sand. He asks God why he was abandoned during those times. God replies that he was not abandoned, but rather, those were the places where God carried him.

I don’t mean to at all detract from something that has been so meaningful to so many, but it just hasn’t worked that way for me. I look back and see the two sets of footprints even in the struggle. I ask God, “Why didn’t I get the same deal others apparently got? Why didn’t you carry me?” His response in my soul comes gently and with great peace, but as a Father that has to teach a son a life-affirming lesson. “Greg, I didn’t carry you. Those time of struggle - those were when I taught you how to walk by my strength.”