Faith Like a Little Child
I love being married to a musician. Between my husband’s piano playing and the music lessons he teaches out of our living room, our house is always full of music. There is one particular student of his whose story I’d like to tell, a wonderful lady from our church with a passion for music similar to his. Susie is the kind of lady who is a welcome guest in anyone’s home. Every Thursday afternoon when she arrived for her voice lesson, my husband and I would open the door to a chipper hello and a cheerful smile. She would chat with us for a few minutes before she and my husband would assume their positions, his at the piano and hers beside it. For the next hour the house was filled with jubilant singing and hearty laughter. It was one such Thursday when she shared with us that the doctors had discovered a malignant tumor in her throat. She, apparently undaunted by the news, explained that they planned to perform a surgery to remove it in the following months. Her voice lesson that day carried on with the usual joyful vigor, and she left us with smiles on our faces as ever before. I marveled at her unyielding gladness, which seemed a scarce trait in many other sufferers (including, in the past, myself). Perhaps she was unafraid because this wasn’t her first battle with cancer, but it seemed to me that the source of her optimism went deeper than that. It was early Easter morning when Susie’s husband found her motionless in bed, with lips a deathly blue and chest empty of its usual rhythm. In four minutes, the medics arrived with a ventilator, and she was intubated and rushed to the hospital. Due to the quick work of the doctors, her life was saved, but it was a week before she was able to breathe on her own again. Once she had recovered some strength and had been transferred to a rehabilitation hospital, my husband and I loaded our baby son into the car and went to pay her a visit. As we pulled out of the driveway, I prayed that her joyful spirit had not dwindled with her strength, but that her hope remained alive as ever. My prayer did not go unheard. When we walked into her room we were greeted by the same chipper hello and bright smile that we were accustomed to, though her eyes were dark with fatigue and her voice scratchy from the lacerations in her throat. She was just as we’d ever seen her– lighting even the darkest room with her laughter. Once she had related to us the story beginning with that Easter morning, the conversation shifted to her vocal lessons with my husband. She told us that the doctors said she’d likely never be able to sing the way she used to again – the intubation had done too much damage to her throat and vocal cords. But she seemed unperturbed even by this, and informed us that she intended to continue her weekly lessons once she had fully recovered. God always delights in the songs of His saints, she reasoned, no matter how scratchy or off-key their voices may be. Before we left that evening, my husband pulled out his hymnal and asked what her favorite Easter hymn was. Though weak, her voice drifted up to heaven along with ours, from “He’s Risen, He’s Risen” to “Come, You Faithful, Raise the Strain.” Our hearts were full. We came to bring her joy, but it was she who brought us the greater joy. As she held our tiny smiling son on her lap, it struck me that her faith was not unlike his – unburdened by the doubts and fears that often come with adulthood. She was free. She had commended all to Christ, and whether she lived or died, she trusted that it was good. This was the lesson she had so clearly learned through all her battles past: death could only harm her if she let it take away the peace she had in Christ. Death could only harm her if she feared it.
Lord, may all your saints, both young and old, enter the blessed rest that comes from knowing what You have accomplished for us on the cross. When doubts and fears arise and assail us, may your Holy Spirit come to our aid and offer us that promised comfort, that the peace which passes understanding may be ours. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.
Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth, before the difficult days come, and the years draw near in which you say, “I have no pleasure in them.” Remember your Creator before the silver cord is loosed, or the golden bowl is broken, or the pitcher shattered at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the well.
Then the dust will return to the earth as it was, and the spirit will return to God who gave it.” (Eccl. 12:1, 6) | A guest post by
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