Estimated reading time: 9 minutes
I love September. This particular September day rolled in with the fully alive colors of the season as our mountains welcomed their first sweaters of snow and the orange leaves snapped to attention on the trees. The day could have been perfectly lovely. However, that turned out to be the day war was declared, and my husband was diagnosed with a terminal illness.
Like just most conflicts, this one began long before we realized it. My husband, Steve, a man who personified the word strapping, had been experiencing some neck and shoulder weakness that was diagnosed as arthritis and treated with a steroid injection. Weeks later, however, his condition was so much worse that he struggled to hold his head up when he mowed the lawn or rode a bike. Ironically, I was not concerned when I went with him to see a neurologist on that big September day. I have feared pretty much everything else in my life, but our family has been blessed with generations of stout health, and Steve had never had any serious physical issues.
At the clinic, the doctor conducted test after test on Steve’s strength, and slowly, steadily, as water seeps into the sand, a sense of ominous dread began to roll into that cold, sterile room. Steve had been working hard throughout the year to lose weight, and many people had remarked about how great he looked. However, as the neurologist soberly pointed out the lack of symmetry in my husband’s twitching shoulder muscles, I realized that what we had assumed was healthy weight loss was actually muscle atrophy.
Receiving a terminal illness diagnosis
I can’t pinpoint the moment it happened, but at some point during the doctor’s silent scrutiny, Goliath walked into the room. Though invisible, his presence was palpable; his size and strength nearly took my breath away. I tried desperately to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over. Even though the doctor had yet to mention any possible names for whatever was causing Steve to waste away, I knew then and there that we were in for the fight of our lives. I just knew.
As the doctor began explaining the litany of tests that would follow, I could hear his words, but with the ears of the Holy Spirit, I also could hear the sounds of a battle forming. The lines had been drawn. The war was on, and the fight felt suffocating.
That big day launched a lot of other big days. And finally, eight months after the first doctor visit, the day the dreaded diagnosis came: amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. Lou Gehrig’s disease.
Facing ALS
ALS destroys motor neurons, and no one knows why. Healthy motor neurons move our muscles into action, so when they stop working, our muscles think they’re no longer necessary and give up. Steve’s muscles are giving up, and it seems as though he loses a bit more of his strength every day. At first, that meant I had to open the mayonnaise jars on my own; now, it means I have to help him dress and lift the spoon to his lips during meals. The man who used to bench-press well over 200 pounds can no longer pull the covers up over himself at night.
When your spouse has a terminal illness, nearly every decision packs an emotional wallop, the likes of which we have never had to absorb before. I’ve gotten plenty of sympathy and hugs, so please know that I am not saying this to gain more but rather to help you feel the ground on which our family fights: This has been, without any close second, the most intense and excruciating battle we have ever faced.
When God enters the terminal illness battle
However, and this is a big however, God himself has come to our crisis. He has shown up in miraculous and magnificent ways, and this has caused an indelible change in one specific area of my thinking. I used to believe that God could bring good things from hard times, almost like a cosmic consolation prize for having endured something unfortunate or unfair. Now that I’ve walked with Him this far through the fight, I am certain of this one truth: Some beautiful things can only be found in the hardest times.
Can you turn that idea around in your mind for a bit and let its size and scope seep in? God is for us. He is for our growth, our joy, our success, and our maturity, and He will use every struggle we face as the delivery agent for His most remarkable gifts. Our beautiful God has hidden beauty in the soil of our battlefield. He has placed treasure there that we simply would not be able to find in other, more peaceful places.
God is with us through terminal illness
Before we faced this fight, I knew this truth in theory, but I hadn’t experienced a fire hot enough to prove and refine it. Now I can say with great confidence I own it. On good days and on bad, in war and in peace, in sickness and in health, I know in the deepest part of my heart that He is the God who brings beauty from battle.
In the dark of night, when it’s just me and my tears and fears and questions of What if? and Why me?—He shows up. Through His voice, His Word, and His indescribable but absolutely undeniable presence, He has strengthened me and proven himself sure and steadfast. Every. Single. Time. I can say with confidence: This battle is not destroying us. In fact, in the midst of this trauma and turmoil, God’s power to use every bad thing for our good is making us more beautiful than we have ever been.
God’s strength through terminal illness
When I was little, my friends and I often played the game loosely titled “My Dad is Stronger Than Your Dad.” It went something like this:
“My dad is so strong, he can move the couch by himself.”
“Oh yeah, well my dad is so strong he can move the piano!”
Back and forth, back and forth, until the game was trumped by the dad who could lift the entire planet and all of its objects, past, present, and future. We all want to have a strong dad, and most men hope to be strong dads.
This has been a tender topic in my home over the past two years as Steve has deteriorated from ALS. It’s hard to watch someone I love live without strength. That’s why this aspect of God’s character is so magnificent to me. He is strong. Our Dad is stronger than any human, power, or principality. But the really big deal here is this: Not only is He very powerful, but He’s also willing to share His strength with others. Most particularly, He shares His strength with the weak.
Read this:
He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Therefore, I will most gladly boast all the more about my weaknesses so that Christ’s power may reside in me (2 Corinthians 12:9, HCSB).
Read that verse again, out loud. According to Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible, Asthenes, the Greek word translated here as “weakness,” means “ailments, diseases, infirmities, weakness.”1 In general, it speaks of the conditions of our humanity that create disabilities. That’s bad news. But here’s the good news: Dunamis, the Greek word translated here as “power,” means “ability, might, miraculous power, strength.”2 Isn’t that exciting?
Terminal illness and the fulfillment of Scripture
I am seeing the fulfillment of this Scripture in my husband’s life. I am watching the ability of God come into his disability. God’s might is overwhelming Steve’s weaknesses in ways that cause him to be stronger in spirit, purpose, and vision than he has ever been before. I know many who would say that the only acceptable outcome for Steve’s life is miraculous, physical healing, but I am seeing miraculous strength invade his being in ways that can only be supernatural. He is physically weak, but God is making him gloriously strong by His willingness to share His power with those who most need it.
In fact, this is true of our whole family. Had you asked me three years ago how we would handle a giant of this magnitude, I wouldn’t have known what to say. Now, my answer is definite: God has made us mighty. He has given us strength not just to stand but to reach out to others who are suffering. He has filled us with purpose and blessed us with credibility inside a community we didn’t know about before our own battle with ALS. We now share His love for the many families dealing with this disease, and love never fails. It always makes us stronger than we were before. I hope it makes those who receive it stronger as well.
God wants to be strong for us, and through us
When a really big battle lands on the doorstep, it’s tempting to flex our muscles and hope we can duke it out and win. But as I look more intently at the character of God, I see that He is waiting, willing, and excited about showing himself strong for us and through us. 1 Peter 5:8 tells us that the Enemy is on the prowl, looking for ways to dismantle and destroy us. He’s on a mission, and we are his target, and that sounds scary to a weak girl like me.
But then I read 1 Peter 5:10: “After you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace who called you to his eternal glory in Christ will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”
The God of grace wants to bring His strength to our weakness, His power to our pain, His muscle to our fight. He wants to help us through the trials that terminal illness brings. Let’s let Him.
Editor’s note
Steve Stern went to be with the Lord in the summer of 2015. Bo posted on her blog: In 2011, Steve was diagnosed with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. That’s when he became a hero. Steve battled the treacherous disease with bravery, humor, and determination. He stayed fiercely in love with God and committed to being a faithful and loyal friend, dad, and husband, even in the midst of his suffering. He used all his minutes and muscles on the people he loved most and continued to develop new, important relationships up until his last breath on July 18, 2015. The impact of Steve Stern’s life, faith and love cannot be contained by words on a page, but it is reflected in his family and the many who were blessed to call him friend. His 19,445 days on this earth were a gift that he opened and lived out with joy.
