Lazarus Still Died (thoughts on healing)

There are two events in my life I can confidently point to as miracles. There have likely been other interventions God has done on my behalf that I may never know about until heaven, but I know there have been two times where God reached down and changed something in my life that only He could. Just over two years ago Brian and I started looking into our infertility issues (again). I had experienced some physical problems that were pointing to a potentially new issue, so we wanted to be good stewards of our bodies and look into getting it resolved. We did some extensive testing (with an exceedingly ethical doctor, which was my big criteria in making another go at this) and at the end of the process were told it would be impossible for us to conceive without some dramatic interventions. This was worse news than our original diagnosis 8 years earlier, although it was emotionally much less devastating. We were parenting three little children (ages 4, 2 and 1) and decided we’d be happy to continue to add to our family through adoption. We declined the medical interventions they recommended and a few months later found ourselves pregnant (please don’t say “it’s when you stop trying that it happens” because that is statistically false and puts incredible pressure on women to pretend not to want what they desperately want). This was a miracle. And that miracle made his way past whatever blockage in my tube had held up the last two babies and firmly implant himself in my uterus with a tenacity that only a c-section could resolve. God did what couldn’t be done. And I didn’t really know how to process that.

Photo by Rebecca Tredway Photography

During my pregnancy I began having troubling physical symptoms.  I assumed they were pregnancy related or related to medication I was taking, but my midwife and OB referred me on for more testing after assuring me this was NOT normal. My doctor did his testing then referred me on to a specialist who told me it wasn’t likely to be cancer, but they needed to do some additional testing to rule that out. Additional testing showed that I didn’t have cancer, but did have an incurable autoimmune issue that’s symptoms and effects would change my daily life until the day I died. It was a huge relief mixed with total sadness and a return to feeling like my body was a failure.

The intensity of my symptoms became more and more scary and life altering until about seven weeks after our baby was born when they just began to resolve. I met with my specialist again and he assured me that I couldn’t possibly be healed and this disease would haunt me forever. But he was wrong. At least for now.

I imagine I should feel overwhelming gratefulness about these two situations, but I think I’ve found them more puzzling than anything else. Why would God choose to heal me? Why has he chosen not to heal other equally deserving people? I didn’t do any of the things people who should get miracles would do. I didn’t have our elders lay hands and pray over me. I didn’t believe God would grant me a pregnancy experience. I didn’t even ask God to heal my body from this autoimmune issue  I prayed for grace to deal with it well, but never considered healing even an option. I trusted my doctors and believed if they said there was no hope, then there was no hope. And I was okay without hope. I have learned that hope is costly and risky and I like my life better with doors closed and questions answered. But that is not where God has asked me to live.

As we were approaching Joel’s first birthday (our biological child) and I was contemplating the big things God had done for me, I ran across this article by Tim Stafford. It was a great read on the importance of miracles in the church and what function they serve. I was especially struck with this idea that the word “miracle” doesn’t really exist in Scripture. The closest word we have is “sign.” Like a literal sign. Something that orients you and points you in the right direction. These quotes were key for me:

“Signs are never ends in themselves. They do not point to themselves. They are not proof of anything in themselves. They exist not to make us think we have arrived, but to lead us somewhere new.”

“We are responsible to be open for signs of God’s wondrous presence, and to pray for them. We are responsible to praise God when we see miracles, and to think about what message God has for us in them.

We are equally responsible not to go pursuing signs and wonders as though they were the ultimate good that God intended. We are responsible not to demand miracles as proof that God is present. They are not the substance of the kingdom; they are symptoms of the kingdom. The substance is Jesus, who suffered, died, and was buried, then was raised again to life.”

I have thought about these quotes as I try to understand the healing God did in my body to allow it to carry life. It has been helpful to me to look at this event as not the end in itself, but as a faith strengthening moment. I am so thankful for Joel’s life, but I also realize that my thankfulness isn’t just for him, but for God’s grace to allow his life. When someone gives you a good gift, your happiness isn’t just in the gift, but in the sweetness of the one who gave it to you. I am thankful to have a body that functions well, but I am more thankful for God’s kindness expressed to me in the healing he performed. These are acts of relationship. They are acts of mercy. They are meant to be known by everybody, but out of my desire to not express how hard things have been, I have also been reluctant to speak of my healing. The miracles that happen around us can only serve as signs that point to God when we tell others about the gifts we’ve been given.

Which has made me think about Lazarus and my friends who are asking for healing. Lazarus was a man brought back to life by the power of Jesus. My daughter Bethany was named for the city where this event took place because of how strongly that story resonates with our family. Jesus stepped in and changed the course of a life like he did for our daughter through her adoption. But Lazarus still died. He was healed only to die again.

I remember being pregnant on Mother’s Day and instead of feeling joyful, I kept thinking about my infertile sisters. God was showing mercy to me, but what about them? He is their God as well and has good plans for them—plans for healing, plans for the joy of adoption, plans to show himself faithful through peace in their barrenness. Healing is beautiful, but I have never felt closer to God than I have during the times of intense trial.

It is a mercy to see healing take place in our own lives or the lives of those we love, but it has to function as that sign pointing us forward. Our ultimate healing is still waiting for us and will require our ultimate suffering. We are not refined by easy circumstances, but by pain and discipline. I want you to see the miracle of my son’s life and praise God. There is hardly a day that goes by that I don’t think about what life was like when my body wasn’t functioning properly. There’s a fear that lingers that tells me tomorrow it may all come back again. But that wouldn’t change the amazing grace God has shown by giving me 20 months without symptoms. I want you to know that we serve a God that can do these things. I want these healings to point you to a savior who longs to see you healed, too. Will that be today? Will that be miraculously? Will God use a wise physician or a powerful prayer service? Will God’s healing come for you when you lay this body down? We know God is able, but we don’t know his plan.