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How had that happened? Had we simply not seen it before? Had one of our children played a silly prank, wised up, and put it where we would find it? Or did the Lord find it and put it there because he loved Mary Lou? No matter which option, we thanked God for a little miraculous answer to our prayer.
— Bert Ghezzi
“Where Is a Loving God?”
At age eighteen, I went away to nursing school. I loved it. I could bring smiles to sad faces, take people’s pain away, and make them more comfortable. I was good at taking care of people.
But then, as part of my education, I had to go to a mental hospital for three months. It became a torture chamber for me. All I could see was hopelessness in these suffering people. Their mental afflictions seemed worse than any physical suffering I had experienced. My heart cried out, “Where is there a loving God with all this human suffering?” Darkness of the soul began to enfold me like claws in the night.
After I returned to a medical floor at the hospital, one of the first patients assigned to me was a young woman with three small daughters. Her husband had abandoned her. This young woman was so courageous, but she lost her battle to cancer, and she died. Again my heart cried out, “Where is a loving God with all this human suffering?”
I had been raised a Methodist, and I had cherished my faith since I was a little girl. It had always brought me comfort. But now my faith was dying. I called the minister at my church and he told me, “Don’t worry. Everyone goes through disbelief at one time or another.”
I felt completely empty and afraid. Then I heard the voice of God for the first time in my life say, “Go to the cathedral.” I knew this voice did not come from me because I had always been warned about Catholics. But I was desperate. With shaking legs and a pounding heart, I went to the Catholic cathedral.
A priest opened the door.
“I’m a Protestant,” I said.
He invited me to come in, and he listened to my story with tears running down his face. He shared the time in his life when he felt this same terrible darkness. He knew my heart. He promised me that if I would seek God with all my heart, Jesus would reveal himself to me in ways I could never dream, and nothing would ever take my faith away again.
I felt as if I had been wrapped in a mantle of peace. He gave me his blessing, and I left with hope in my heart. I continued to meet with him for the next few months, and eventually I became a Catholic. The voice of God led me to the Catholic Church and a new life.
— Kathleen Skipper
Dealing with Doubts
Doubts can make us feel as if we have lost our faith. But doubts are not always a bad thing. When we struggle with doubts, it means we don’t have enough information to resolve whatever is troubling us. Our doubts prompt us to start looking for answers. We begin to seek out people who can help us grasp whatever it is that we don’t understand.
“Of course, everyone has doubts at times!” Pope Francis explains. “Doubts which touch the faith, in a positive way, are a sign that we want to know better and more fully God, Jesus, and the mystery of his love for us.… These are doubts which bring about growth! It is good, therefore, that we ask questions about our faith, because in this way we are pushed to deepen it.”
“Speak to Me, Child”
When I was thirty years old, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I went through surgery, chemo, and radiation. Afterward, I was fine. My husband and I always wanted children, but my body had been through a lot, and my chances of getting pregnant were slim. I prayed, “God, whatever is meant to be, it will happen. This is in your hands.”
We were living in Switzerland at the time. Almost ten years later, my husband was offered a job in Canada, where I grew up. Six weeks after we moved to Canada, I found out I was pregnant at age forty. This pregnancy was a miracle. Benjamin was born healthy — a happy, smiley baby.
When Benjamin was twelve weeks old, the cancer came back in my liver, bones, and lungs. My family and friends were devastated, but I said, “Nope. God is going to take care of me.” I told the doctors that I would do everything they told me to do, but I did not want to hear any details about the cancer, and I did not want to know the prognosis. I didn’t want their voices in my head. I prayed, “God, I am your child. Sickness is not supposed to be part of our lives. You died on the cross to save us. I am giving all of this to you.”
I was raised Catholic, and prayer has always been a part of my life. A healing priest told me that in my prayer, I should thank God for healing me. He said physical healing is not the only way God heals. Emotional stability is an important part of healing. So my prayers became prayers of thanksgiving for the way God was working in my life. I decided to live as if I was already healed.
Things went really well for the first few months, but then it got ugly again. I had pain in my back and hip. They tried radiation and more chemo. Then I got pneumonia. I could not get out of bed. I lost weight, and I was completely out of it because of the painkillers. I couldn’t hold my baby for weeks. My family thought this was the end. But suddenly, I heard a voice say, “Speak to me, child.”
A profound sense of childlike faith and belief came over me. I prayed out loud, “Lord, I believe I am supposed to be here for my child and my husband, and as a testimony to you. If this is supposed to be, I know you will make it happen. But if you are going to take me, then please just do it.”
I went to sleep, and the next morning I woke up with no fever and a lot of energy. I got out of bed and began to take care of Benjamin. I also gained a new understanding of childlike faith. When my son needs something, I take care of him. God was taking care of me in the same way.
There were several more good months, but then the chemo stopped working. I asked about an experimental drug. It would be risky because I would have to be off chemo for four weeks before I could start the battery of tests to see if I would qualify for the clinical trial. I prayed about it, and I had the feeling that this was something I needed to do.
Four weeks later, I passed all of the tests except the last one. My hemoglobin level needed to reach 90. It was 83. I begged the nurse to give me twenty-four hours and let me try again. A lot of people and prayer groups were praying for me, so I went home and sent messages to everyone to pray. I ate foods that would boost the iron in my blood. When I went back the next day, my hemoglobin was 90.
This was a randomized clinical trial, so the next hurdle was to find out if I would receive the experimental drug or regular chemo. I prayed, “God, it is up to you whether this is the right drug for me. I give it to you to decide what is for my greatest good.” Later that afternoon, I was told I would receive the experimental drug.
The drug started working immediately. My health is now stable. Lumps in my bones disappeared. My scans show tumors shrinking. I haven’t been sick. I am living a totally normal life with a lot of energy, and I am able to take care of my son.
Throughout all of this, I learned that it’s not just about praying. It’s also about believing. It’s about giving everything to God and putting yourself into a state of receivership. It’s about having