Letting go

Garry E. Chartier

We were raised not more than 50 miles from each other, out on the Prairies. He was my age, and we shared a common understanding of life in a rural Saskatchewan community. We didn't know each other in those days, but the similarity of our backgrounds provided the fuel for many warm and enjoyable conversations later on.

Our paths did eventually cross, in the summer of 1987. I was the new pastor of a church; he was a faithful and fully supportive member of my congregation. As our acquaintanceship grew, it became evident that he was a special person, one whom God had purposely placed in my life at that precise point in time. In the divine arrangement of things, he possessed certain abilities and talents that I lacked. God knew that, and also that he was the kind of person who would unselfishly share his skills with me. We worked together without conflict, I being more a beneficiary of his gifts than he of mine. He was a great help to me professionally and a tremendous encouragement to me personally. More than that, he was a gracious individual, thoughtful and conciliatory in his dealings with everyone.

That the good die young is a mere generality. It was true in the case of my good friend Vern.

When Vern was stricken with cancer a few years ago, it was hard for me to accept. "Why, Lord?" I asked. "Why should such a good man, one who loves You, have to contend with such a dreadful disease? It just doesn't seem fair. Please bring him through this, Lord." And He did.

A few years passed. I saw less of Vern, as I had retired as pastor of the church and our paths diverged somewhat. But the kinship was still there. Good friendships last a lifetime.

Then, one day, the shocking news came that Vern's cancer had returned. This time it was diagnosed as terminal. "Lord," I prayed, "You brought him through this once. You can bring him through again. Please, Lord."

But as time progressed, so did the disease. What was God doing? Was He going to perform a last minute miracle? I knew it was not impossible. Perhaps the cancer would go into remission, and all would be well again.

We were able to spend some quality time together, even though his body was weakening steadily. I helped him with some of the things he wanted to get done around his yard. Then we would sit and talk. His attitude amazed me. How, I thought, could one facing the inevitable deterioration of his physical body be at such peace? Even though I knew that God's grace was the answer, I still could not help but marvel. After all, he was human.

It seemed to me that Vern accepted his illness with more meekness than was humanly possible. He was a realist in every way. In his suffering, he became a genuine example of Christ-like serenity. He calmly accepted the things he couldn't change, courageously endeavoured to change the things he could and possessed the God-given wisdom to discern between the two. I conceded that he had a far better perception of the situation than I did.

I was beginning to see that God had a different plan for Vern than I would have chosen for him, had I the power to do so. Yet I prayed on: "Lord, restore him to health."

It was a Thursday evening. I was out of town. I phoned to see how Vern was doing, as I had regularly done all the time I was away. His wife answered the telephone. She was just leaving for the hospital, where he had been taken that morning.

That night, my prayer was somewhat different. I said, "Lord, if You're not going to heal him, please relieve his pain, ease his suffering." I was finally beginning to let go, acknowledging, albeit reluctantly, that since God is supreme in authority and wisdom, His plans and purposes must take priority over anything that I might want.

God finally got through to me that there is a time to hold on and a time to let go. Tenaciously holding on at the same time that God was saying "Let go," was only proloning my frustration.

The next morning, I awoke in the wee hours. "Lord," I prayed, "be with Vern today in a special way." That same morning, my prayer for him was answered. Vern was released from his suffering into the presence of the Lord.

Garry E. Chartier is a member of Neighbourhood Church in Nanaimo, B.C.

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