|
A visit with Randy Becton--
I don't know all that you have gone through, nor do I understand
it. But I do feel that we, being Christians, would become close
friends if we had even a short time together, not only because
we share our faith but also because we have to face a common
enemy. Since a personal visit is not possible, I wanted to
share, by this means, some things with you.
Think about what cancer has done to you and me. It has attacked
our sense of security and well-being, our time to live, our
work, our homes, and our families and their future. Maybe it's
even troubled our faith.
During those weeks in the hospital, I received the beginning
treatments of chemotherapy with their painfully severe reactions
and side effects. It was so hard for me to fight the almost
unbearable depression that set in during these days. I was
afraid; and as one Christian who visited me later told me,
"You seemed depressed about being afraid." I guess I
was because I was disappointed about not having a stronger faith
when this crisis hit me.
I had been a faithful Christian, I believe, honestly seeking to
do God's will in my life. I had often told people of God's love
for us and how "all things work together for good for those
who love him."[1] But somehow it was so easy to say then
but so hard to really believe and rely on when cancer struck.
Cancer threatened everything precious to me.
Every time I thought about my three small children (one of them
only six months old), I would cry and cry, because I feared they
would soon lose me as their father. Daily I would have my wife
by my side; but at night when she went away for a few hours'
rest, I would wonder if when she awoke the next morning she
would be a widow. That thought almost overwhelmed me and kept me
almost always in a state of depression. As you read this maybe
your own thoughts go to similar things you've thought about,
cried about, worried endlessly over, and prayed fervently about.
My prayers during this time pleaded with God. First, I needed to
know with certainty that he loved me. I felt so helpless, so
alone. In fact the aloneness I felt in suffering, the
uncertainty of facing a large unknown were strong emotions I
experienced. I confess that I doubted that God really loved me.
If he did, I reasoned, then why did he let this happen to me? I
had tried to serve him, but in the strength of my life I felt he
had allowed me to be cut down. Death as a prospect at this time
didn't come as a friend but as a horrible enemy. I longed for
God to be close to me. I needed him so badly in the midst of the
valley of the shadow of death. I felt maybe a little like Jesus
felt in Gethsemane when he said, "My soul is
sorrowful."[2]
You may think, "Well, how weak Randy's faith was." If
so, you're exactly right. I doubted; I was anxious; I was
depressed. Somehow, though, I feel that God accepted me in those
feelings. He knew and, much more important, he helped me know
that "It's alright for you to feel this way."
I talked to him about it all. Everything. Even my anger and
bitterness. During this time I needed someone who understood me
and accepted me. And I tell you without any doubt and with full
exultation God heard me; and like the loving Father he is, he
surrounded me with his understanding, and I felt secure in his
arms of love.
I was convinced that it is right to cry out to God. It is an
appropriate response of our humanity to bare ourselves before
him in the midst of our suffering, our pain, our
disappointments, as well as our hopes, expectations and joy. It
is always proper for a child to be honest with his father. It is
always right for a child to ask from his father.
When I became a Christian, I received a "spirit of sonship."[3]
If you've doubted that God really loves you, I want you to know
that I know exactly what you felt. It's normal to experience
that valley. Maybe you are in it now and are finding it very
hard to come out. I wish you'd write me and tell me about it.
I'd write back and share some other things that also helped me
come back out. And by the way, that battle is a continuous one
in my life. I still experience valleys, doubts, and serious
struggles with depression. I struggle one day at a time.
I have found some truths from God that help me live each day.
I'd like to share them in the hope that you will share some with
me.
First, God gave me and you life - every day is a gift from him.
Cancer just sharpens our focus on the fact that life is "as
a vapor."[4] Lengths of days at best is short; therefore,
we need to concentrate on living each day as a celebration of
life. If we pause for a moment, we'll remember that everyone is
terminal!
This is a time when we have some regrets and possibly make some
resolutions. We may promise that if our health is stabilized,
there are some areas of life that we plan to live differently. I
have found that I have to be careful not to dwell constantly on
personal regrets, nor go too far in making great resolutions,
although some of each seem to be normal and probably helpful.
Secondly, it helps me to remember that I have something secure
that cancer cannot threaten - Jesus Christ. My true identity is
in being God's son with all the rights and privileges that go
with it. God said that as his child I can trust him.[5] He said
that nothing can separate me from the love he has for me.[6] He
said that when my "earthly tent"[7] folds up, even if
by cancer, he will give me a dwelling eternal, one that will
never fold up. I believe him. He is trustworthy. Oh, sure,
sometimes I waver but in those times I pray, "Lord, I
believe, help thou my unbelief." Sometimes "faith is
the bird that feels the light ... and sings ... when the dawn is
still dark." Maybe it's hard for you, like it is for me, to
walk by faith, not by sight. But every day I remind myself that
I'm a son of God, a child of the King, and my security and hope
are in him. And remember you must decide to trust. It is a
matter of your will - not how you feel. Decide every day, even
every hour to trust. During my periods of uneasiness,
apprehension, or fear, I say, "Lord, I'm going to trust
you. Help me." He does. He will help you!
Third, remember that earlier I told you about praying. When you
pray, I suggest you tell God exactly how you feel and exactly
what you want. That's what he wants --whatever is really on your
heart. It will probably help you to remember your Lord did that
in Gethsemane when he said: "Abba, Father, all things are
possible to thee; remove this cup from me; yet not what I will
but what thou wilt."[8] Remember I said it is good for a
child to be honest with his father. That applies to you too.
Express your heart fully. But notice that it must follow in my
life and yours that our spirit seeks to be in the center of
God's will. We want most for his will to be done. I pray to
live; I tell the Father why, then I seek to tell him that I know
he knows what's best for me, his child. Isn't the whole point of
my life in Christ to "do my Father's will"?
Fourth, keep in mind at all times: you are not alone! When it
hurts, during tests and medication, in uncertainty, when no one
really understands - - he is with you. Accept his promise that
whenever you are "in the valley" he is there.[9]
Fifth, other brothers and sisters are experiencing similar
trials. We are trying to endure and ... by God's power ... we
will. Pray for me. I'll pray for you. We're in this together.
Remember to "trust in the Lord with all your heart and do
not rely on your own insight."[10] Remember also, that no
matter how many dark days you may have, no matter how many
losing days ... the last day you are a winner! God, by Jesus'
resurrection, will keep his promise:
If the spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in
you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will give life to
your mortal bodies also through his Spirit which dwells in
you."[11]
If you've asked why? and all you've heard is silence in your
suffering, I'd like to send you a little study I had a part in
preparing entitled "Does He Cry With Me?" Maybe it
will help, even though now "we see through a glass
darkly." [12] There's a lot I don't know, and being no
giant of faith, I waver often; but I do know this: I know my
father; I love my father; I trust my father. He is my anchor
point. He sustains me. When I think that my loving father
controls the last hour, then trusting him with the next moment
becomes easier.
I've been personal with you. I hope you haven't been offended. I
just wanted to share my struggle with you. I would appreciate it
if you would share yours with me. Maybe you can help strengthen
my faith. I need that help. Maybe you want to talk with the one
who gave you this material. Talking with someone close to you
holds great promise of being helpful to you. Or maybe you want
to share some of your feelings, whether fear or trust, joy or
pain, with me. I promise to respond because I care.
My prayer for you is this:
0 God, you gave my friend and me life and hope in Jesus
Christ. This health crisis has shaken us. We ask you for
strength spiritually. Understand our emotions of anger,
bitterness, fear, anxiety. Help us trust you and commit our way
to you. Thank you for understanding. Be very close to us we pray
in Jesus' name.
Back
To The Top
A
Personal Note:
These words come straight from my heart to yours. Grieving is
universal but also so personal and individual. There are no easy
answers and what I've written doesn't seek to give a prescription
for you - My goal is to use these words to enter your heart for a
while and share your loss.
Friendship is well begun when we seek to know another's heart and
enter another's loss with tender care. It will mean much to me if
this booklet is a helpful beginning. I'd like to hear from you
again as you struggle with your sorrow. Perhaps together we can
seek to understand. We need God most of all, but we also need each
other.
With a caring heart,
Randy Becton Herald
of Truth - Randy Becton
For
Those Who Grieve
Telling
The Truth About How It Hurts
When
you grieve it really matters. No other human knows the deep ache
you are experiencing when you lose your loved one. His unique
preciousness to you is beyond words, and now he's gone.
Each person who loves you tries to say the right words. You know
they would give anything if they knew what would really console
you. But deep in your heart you know they can't really console you
because they don't really know what you feel and what you need.
You are not sure yourself what you need - you only know that you
want the one whom you lost. He is irreplaceable and it seems cruel
when one of your well-meaning friends tells you that things will
get better with time. Maybe time will help, but you certainly
don't think so right now - and this gives you no comfort for your
present pain. Your world is upside down. The silence in the house
is almost devastating, but you know that creating noise is not the
answer.
Friends tell you that you must eat properly. Intellectually you
know that, but you simply aren't interested in food. They tell
you, "Get proper rest now"; but even when you try, sleep
doesn't come. You want to shout, "Doesn't anyone know that my
grief is my fatigue, and sleeping doesn't relieve it?" But
you give each the credit for meaning well, for having a generous
heart.
Some friends remind you of the "good times" and urge you
to dwell on those good times-- the years you were blessed to share
life with your precious one. But when you try to dwell on the good
times, and there were so many, you realize they are over, and you
find yourself smiling and crying, crying and smiling. This change,
this loss, this death hurts. You resent it. You feel you're
powerless to stop the pain. You feel angry. Sometimes you just
feel numb.
Have you set the table for two and then suddenly remembered? Have
you checked the yard plants and suddenly remembered he probably
would have watered them this week? What about preparing the
laundry and thinking, "I'd better get his. . . ", and
then coming face to face with it again: he's gone.
You want to pray and you start, but then tears come. You want to
blurt out to God, "Oh, God, I'm so alone. I miss him so much.
Why didn't I go first? Why him, Lord? Why now?" But then you
catch yourself thinking, "Maybe I'm blaming God." You
may think, "I should be doing a better job of coping with
this loss." After some time passes, even your friends look
for signs that you're coping better. They may say, "She's
starting to live again," but you know it's not that simple.
Sometimes you're all right and sometimes you're like a frightened
child. Then you start thinking that you can't even tell your
closest friends when you aren't coping well.
Do any of the above thoughts describe you? Have you spent a lot of
time wondering why you are still here? What could God use you for
now? Especially, if you are in your later years.
Questions You'd Like Better Answers To
Even after you lose your mate you may be burdened by the difficult
memory of the suffering that he experienced. You tried to do your
best to serve him, but you often felt so helpless. You watched,
with deep love, but with limited ability to comfort and to give
meaningful help. Your lifetime partner, the one who meant
everything, needed more than you could offer. So the questions
come:
1. Why did he have to die? This is the first big question. You try
to think, "What could I have done that would have changed the
outcome?" And when you think of nothing, that is still no
consolation. You perhaps wonder why God did not make him well.
You're faced with the choice of trusting God or letting bitterness
creep in.
2. How can I adjust to this loss? The answer to this
question isn't simple. But start, please, by giving yourself as
much time as you need to adjust. There is no set time when grief
must end. You are an individual, and you shared the most intimate
friendship and partnership with a human that can be shared. You
will grow sad during events when he would normally be by your
side. You'll always have occasions when you think, "he would
have loved this." This sadness is natural, normal, and
healthy. You may cry whenever you want to. Don't let anyone, even
a friend, make you feel guilty. You must not concern yourself with
pleasing your friends. Do what you need to do, not what anyone, no
matter how close, expects you to do. You own your memories and
they are the great museum of your heart and life experiences. He
will always be a vital part. Therefore, don't try to put him in
the past - let his memory be a blessed presence with you.
Remember, he wants you to love, laugh, serve, cry - fully
participate in life. He trusted you, and his memory presence with
you trusts you still. Your happiness was his goal. Remember.
3. How do I relieve the nagging guilt I feel?
My personal experience tells me that, first of all, your loved one
knew your limitations and accepted them far more gracefully and
kindly than you could. He knew you would have moved heaven and
earth to relieve his suffering and restore his health. Why not,
right now, accept his understanding? He did not blame you for
anything. So, forgive yourself. He wants you to live fully right
now burdened by no regrets about his death. Remember, he loved
you. So honor him by living with meaning, not weighed down in
regrets.
4. Why am I still here? Many
who have shared life so fully in partnership find it very
difficult to focus on a new goal for meeting a fresh day. May I
sincerely suggest that someone needs you. I know that is true
because now that you know sorrow deeply you will be able to enter
another's sorrow and lift his spirit. Charles Dickens wisely
wrote, "No one is useless in the world who lightens the
burden of it for anyone else." God has unique purposes for
your days. Great plans? Yes! To smile and touch a human being's
life at his point of need and to give him hope are some of the
great things God has in mind for you.
A
California lady, in her 70's, lost the great love of her life. She
asked, "What use am I now?" I asked her to think about
serving in the role of a "wounded healer." A wise man
said, "Whoever among us has, through personal experience,
learned what pain and suffering really are ... belongs no more to
himself alone; he is the brother of all who suffer."
I'm personally sympathetic with your periods of self-pity in the
loss of your precious one; but you and I know that a life built on
self-pity produces the bitter fruit of resentment, fear and
enormous unhappiness.
Your choices include the consideration that you can make a
difference in someone's life. Human grief at the loss of a loved
one is expected. But it is unique when you choose to turn your
loss into some value, perhaps leading to the lightening of
another's dark path. However, this is only possible when you allow
God, through His Spirit, to work in you.
I hope these words are a start. Would you like to talk about it?
If you could put into words how you hurt and what your nagging
questions are, then we could meet at that point; two honest hearts
searching through pain and loss for meaning. God honors the
searcher's quest. Please let me hear from you. Randy Becton
You may contact Randy through the internet at The
Caring Touch
We, at Christian
Mirror, thank Randy Becton for allowing us to re-print these articles.
Back
To The Top |
