Groaning for Home

One of these days, I’m going to write about something really chipper. Just not today. Today I’m going to write about my friends’ 13-year-old son who has terminal brain cancer. Yeah, not exactly chipper. Except that this family’s journey through cancer has been filled with such growth, such hope, such faith, that it’s impacted all of us who have been along for the ride.

Ian was diagnosed with cancer on Superbowl Sunday 2008. He endured intense chemotherapy for a year. By the time the Steelers eeked out their win over the Chargers last month, it looked like Ian was finally out of the woods. About that time, I signed a contract with NavPress to help Ian’s dad tell their story, a beautiful story called Don’t Waste the Pain, to be published early next year.

About a week after Ian was declared cancer-free, strange symptoms started appearing. At first the doctors attributed it to lingering chemo effects, but a test of his spinal fluid soon determined that the cancer was back—in his spine and brain. These parents of seven then got the most horrific words a parent can ever hear: “Four to eight weeks.”

I have watched these parents do what any of the rest of us would do—seek any treatment, try any experimental drug, apply for any clinical trial, plead for their son’s life, and try to make it as normal as possible. I’ve also watched them say things like this (from one of their CaringBridge entries): “We’ve taught each of our children how to make a respectful appeal to those in authority over them. That is, “I want you to know that I’ll submit to whatever you decide. But with your permission I’d like to present my case.” That’s the best way I can explain our posture before God right now.”

As I pray for Ian, sometimes I wonder if I’m trying to hold him back from paradise. Where he’s going—either in a few weeks or in 60 or 70 years—is the place we all want for our children and ourselves. What we’re really asking for is a delayed departure. Thirteen seems too young. Surely he needs more time on earth. That’s what our minds and our culture tell us, but God’s Word tells us this:

“We know that if the earthly tent we live in [our bodies] is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling” (2 Cor. 5:1–2).

I struggle to understand much of what Paul writes in the New Testament, and this passage is no different. But I think the gist is that on earth, our bodies moan and grown, deteriorate and die—sometimes even at the age of thirteen. That’s because we’re not made for this temporal home. We’re made for heaven, confident, as Paul goes on to write, that we would “prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord” (verse 8).

I pray for Ian’s healing. Every day. I pray we will be witnesses to a miracle, and I won’t be the least bit surprised if it happens. I pray that his family’s faith will not waver. But I also pray that if God’s answer is, “Come, my child,” that we will smile—even as we grieve—that this boy was chosen to go Home for good.