Yesterday I went to grab a cup of coffee from the common area in the hospital and noticed a man sitting and staring out the window. He had the look. After being here for several months, I can easily recognize the new parents. They all have the look. This guy was upset. I walked over and said, “Hey brother, you hanging in there?” — or something along those lines. He was pretty quiet at first, still staring out the window. It was a big, beautiful blue sky looking back at us — we who were stuck inside.
He said they had received some bad news on Friday and were sent here to the St. Jude Clinic for further testing. The hospital in their hometown had found a tumor in his son, and they needed to send him to a better hospital for what was going on.
He asked why I was here, and I told him I had a daughter who was pretty sick. Months ago, when they looked, they didn’t find a tumor — they found hundreds. We agreed that the period of not knowing what’s going on, just knowing something serious is, is excruciating. In my last book, I called it The Lull.
He went on to say that he was a pastor of his church and had walked with several people through situations like this, but had never experienced it himself. I told him I also have a pastor I talk with, and recently, when I confessed my struggles with my faith, he pointed me to a passage in the book of Mark.
After the transfiguration on the mountain, Jesus came back down and found the Pharisees arguing with the other disciples. They were arguing because the disciples couldn’t cast out a demon from a little boy. Jesus asked what was going on, and the boy’s father said, “If you can help him, please do.” Jesus replied, “‘If I can’?” Then He asked, “Do you believe?” The father said, “I believe; help me with my unbelief.”
I explained that this verse has given me so much comfort, and I hoped it would do the same for him. When I was at that point in our journey, I couldn’t talk to God. There was a disconnect in my spirit. But this dad was steadfast. He was standing firm in His faith, even when previously I wasn’t.
As we wrapped up, we prayed together and cried together. I told him he wasn’t alone and that we’d stay in touch. Later that night, he sent me a text thanking me for coming over. I didn’t tell him, but I needed the connection as much as he did. Kinley and Megan put together a toy basket for his son and drew him a picture for his door, referencing the Psalm that says, He made the stars and calls them by name.
Today, I was walking Megan and Cohen out — it’s Sunday, and they needed to get home and ready for the week. I saw the man loading his truck. He noticed me and came over.
“Did you hear?! We get to go home. It was a misdiagnosis — there is no tumor!”
“Hallelujah,” was all I could say. I’m glad Megan and Cohen were right there to witness it. Even Megan said something like, “Yeah, I think there’s a little something more than a misdiagnosis going on here.”
I feel so blessed to have witnessed this miracle. The Lord is faithful, and this pastor was hopified. He had hope with a backbone and faith on fire.
Scripture Reference — Mark 9:17–24 (CSB)
Someone from the crowd answered him, “Teacher, I brought my son to you. He has a spirit that makes him unable to speak.
Whenever it seizes him, it slams him to the ground, and he foams at the mouth, grinds his teeth, and becomes rigid.
I asked your disciples to drive it out, but they couldn’t.”
He replied to them, “You unbelieving generation, how long will I be with you? How long must I put up with you? Bring him to me.”
So they brought the boy to him. When the spirit saw him, it immediately threw the boy into convulsions. He fell to the ground and rolled around, foaming at the mouth.
“How long has this been happening to him?” Jesus asked his father.
“From childhood,” he said. “And many times it has thrown him into fire or water to destroy him. But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.”
Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’? Everything is possible for the one who believes.”
Immediately the father of the boy cried out, “I do believe; help my unbelief!”
Closing Reflection:
Faith isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the decision to look fear in the eye and still whisper, “I believe.” And in that whisper, heaven moves.