Article 2:
The Comfort of Prophets, Page 1
By Deborah Hedstrom-Page

I could push aside my fears when I was with my husband, Art. It helped to be close to him, doing little things or simply sitting by his hospital bed. But when the hum of my van engine kept me company on the drive home, when my four children chattered around a dinner table missing a place setting, when I stared into the darkness from my half-empty bed; that's when fears crowded my mind.

Over and over I tried to sort all that went with Art's cancer and the surgery it required. I struggled to foresee its effect on him, our closeness, our children, and our finances. Everything I imagined frightened me and overran the lonely moments of my days.

But then I found help in a place I did not expect -- the prophets of the Old Testament.

I hadn't wanted to study the prophets. I thought they were too tough for me. But the Holy Spirit had pointed out that I'd been avoiding almost one-fifth of God's Word for 20 years. So I'd started reading them a few weeks before Art's cancer diagnosis.

The morning I read the eighth chapter of Isaiah followed another restless, fear-filled night. Even as I read, I couldn't focus. My mind clamoured with unanswerable questions: Will Art pull away from me? What if he dies? How can I ever be a single mom? Amid my turmoil, I saw the word "fear" and stopped to absorb what Isaiah said about this dreadful feeling. "The Lord of Hosts, Him you will hallow; let Him be your fear and let Him be your dread. He will be as a sanctuary. (Isaiah 8:13-14)

Oh how I wanted God to be my sanctuary! God controlled my circumstances, and He wanted my fear; only not in a lie-awake, tearful way, but in a keep-me-pleasing-You way.

I memorized that verse. I needed something to take the stab out of my renewed fears when the doctor said the biopsy showed cancer through the tissue walls and into the lymph system. I needed something to clutch onto when he added, "If the cancer reoccurs, your husband will be terminal"

I kept clutch through six weeks of radiation and another bout of surgery -- this time to correct nerve damage. Yet, I could not pray for Art's healing.

Afraid of an Answer
The thought of Art dying hurt so much I could barely gasp for air between sobs. "Lord, You know how much I want ARt to live, but I'm afraid to ask You to heal him. I don't think I could take no for an answer. And if I get bitter and angry toward You, I'd not only lose Art, but You too. I don't want Art to die, but I don't know how to pray."