“All the cunning of the devil is exercised in trying to tear
us away from the word.” ― Martin Luther
Christmas is a magical time that fills me with a childlike
wonder and heartfelt gratitude for the goodness I see in the world. I love the
sweet, minty smell of a fresh cut Spruce tree as it thaws in its base, the
mesmerizing crackle of a fire as it burns low in the fireplace, and the soft
embrace of a warm blanket as I sit in my favorite chair reading a good book and
sipping hot chocolate that’s just a bit too hot. I love Christmas carols, the
jingling of bells at all of the store entrances by the Salvation Army, and
pretty much any Christmas decoration ever created.
Christmas reminds me that people are inherently decent, that
I serve a loving and tremendously powerful God, and that my blessings abound. I
have celebrated Christmas 34 times in my life, but this year will be the most
important and blessed one to date, because I get to celebrate it with Hazel. As
I sat looking out the window of Hazel’s H12 hospital room in April, I couldn’t
be sure that Hazel would see her 2017 Christmas. I sat in that room filled with
fear; I was afraid of the pain yet to come, afraid of the struggles I knew we
were to face, but most of all I was afraid of the unknowns…so many unknowns. My
head in my hands, I spent much of those first few days praying, throwing myself
at the feet of the Lord because I had no idea what else to do.
I wish I could say that I prayed like a man of God in those
early hours, but I didn’t. I didn’t pray for wisdom or for strength. I didn’t
pray that I would know what to do when it came time to make tough treatment
decisions. I didn’t pray for bravery or steadfastness in the face of adversity.
I did not pray as a leader. I prayed like a broken soul. I lamented, I begged,
I sobbed, I screamed. All dignity and pride was lost as I tried to understand
why this burden was to be laid upon my family. I prayed until my head hit the
pillow at night and began praying as soon as I woke in the morning. For the
first time in my life, I prayed so much that I never knew when one prayer ended
and the next began. During this time, I learned what it meant to “pray without
ceasing.”
Prayer has a way of connecting us to the spiritual realm, acting
as a meditative conduit that lays our heart bare and refocuses our soul to
communicate with God. True prayer is more than simply saying some words that
sound like a good, single-sided conversation. Prayer is an intricate dance that
allows us to know God like we know ourselves. Prayer is a communion of trust
and understanding that leads to a relationship so strong that only one of us
has to say anything. If you pray hard and often enough, you stop listening for
the answers you want to hear and begin feeling the presence of those God has
provided.
Battling cancer has had a dramatic effect on my faith and
the faith of my family. Our life may look different now than it did a year ago,
but I believe this is exactly where we were meant to be; where we NEED to be. Our
journey has taught my children the meaning of benevolence, opened their hearts
to unconditional love, and given them a remarkable sense of compassion. It has
taught them to rely on their Creator and cultivated in them a deep set faith
that cannot be shaken. This journey has done more for them in a single year
than I could have hoped to do in a lifetime. Our journey has allowed them to
witness Christ at work on earth, to feel His hand in their lives, and through
their experiences, to see the face of God.
But the spiritual realm is not mutually exclusive to good.
The path my family treads has brought us closer to God, but in doing so we also
drew more attention from the Devil. Over the course of the past year, my family
has withstood much heartache, incredible pain, and some very dark emotions, and
while I can say we have seen Christ at work this year, I am as confident saying
that we have also become intimately acquainted with Lucifer. I have seen him
face-to-face, felt his lurking presence in my home, saw him standing over my
daughter’s bed, and fought with him openly in public. I have stared directly
into his dark, colorless eyes, standing my ground when every fiber of my being
told me to run. I have heard his footsteps behind me, felt his breath on my
neck as he whispered doubts into my ear, and glimpsed his shadowy figure in the
long, cold hospital corridors that have become my daily surroundings.
Satan is a cowardly but cunning adversary, using the
experiences of our lives to weaken our faith. His desire is to destroy my
family and rip my faith from me using the threats of death and loss of my child.
He has waged war on my heart and my armor is worn and damaged, showing signs of
the repeated attacks of a strong aggressor. Our journey has been filled with such
intense emotion that I feel totally used up, eroded to a shell of a person, totally
beaten and diminished. I emerged from the first month standing on unsteady,
wobbly legs; still reeling from the devastating news of a cancer diagnosis, yet
emboldened by the initial positive results of treatment. As treatment continued,
a sweeping darkness has shrouded my family like an approaching thunderstorm,
the ugly cracks of lightning a sign of the foreboding danger housed within. The
darkness is always on our horizon and is so immense that it threatens to swallow
us up at any moment.
Light peeks through that darkness though, rays of hope
burning through the murky evil that surrounds us. This Christmas is one of
those bright rays. I can’t wait to watch Hazel’s face light up with joy as she
opens presents, plays with cousins, sings carols, and enjoys everything about
the holiday season for yet another year. She is such a wonderful blessing to
all of us, and I am so privileged to be part of her life.
As 2017 draws to a tumultuous close, I look back on our year
with sadness, but no regret. I am proud of what my family has become and what
Hazel has accomplished. We have withstood many trials that have hardened our
resolve and built a testament of faith on which we can forever rely. This
experience has taught us many of Satan’s tricks, but also shown us the
immeasurable grace of our heavenly Father. Finally, in 2017 we learned that
even if we are weak, kneeling allows us to bear incredible burdens.
Merry Christmas from The Millers, and have a blessed 2018!
"I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in
order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his
glorious inheritance in his holy people, and his incomparably great power for
us who believe." – Ephesians 1:18-19
