Season of Blessing

by Beverly LaHaye

  She saw the pain on their faces. They grieved already. They would go home tonight and cry and lie awake and wrestle with God.

  She had never felt more loved. Her heart broke for them.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “All my life, I’ve told others about the principles of God. That he is faithful. That he supplies all our needs. Now’s the time for me to test those principles, and prove whether I truly believe them to be true. We talk big, until our own rough spots come. But I intend to be a testimony of those principles, whether God chooses to heal me or not. God will not fail me now.”

  Her eyes met David’s, and she saw the questions, the amazement.

  Cathy got up and came over, sat down, and hugged her so tightly that she thought she would break. Then Brenda came, then Tory.

  She wished she could spare them the pain.

  When the couples had finally gone home, Sylvia felt a surge of relief as she turned back to Harry. “There. It’s done.”

  “You did well.”

  She shook her head. “Maybe I should have told each of them privately.”

  “No, I think you did it exactly the right way. They saw you smiling. They saw your hope, your strength. They saw what you’re made of.”

  That night they fell exhausted into bed. There were no more words to exchange. Harry just held her as she fell asleep in his arms.

  CHAPTER

  Sixty-Five

  Annie didn’t take the news well. Cathy had taken her into her and Steve’s bedroom when she got home, and told her what they’d learned.

  Annie grabbed a pillow from the bed and hugged it against her. “No, Mom, it can’t be. Tell me it isn’t.”

  It was as if Cathy had just told her that she, herself, had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. “Honey, it’s true.”

  “Mom, she’s just got too many things to do. How could this be?”

  Cathy pulled her into her arms and wept with her. “Honey, I know how much Sylvia came to mean to you when you were in Nicaragua, but she wants us to know that God is faithful and he’s still in control.”

  “But I can’t stand to see her suffer. I thought it was over. Oh, Mom…”

  Cathy pulled back and looked into Annie’s face. She hated seeing her daughter crushed like this. Her own grief was multifaceted. It wasn’t just for Sylvia, but for herself and for the neighbors…for all those children who loved her from Nicaragua…for Annie.

  “We’re not going to give up hoping. We’re going to keep praying for her and know that pretty soon this will all be behind us. This different chemotherapy she’s going to try might really do the trick. We’ll just have to have faith.”

  Annie grabbed a towel out of the laundry basket and wept into it, then flung it down. “This is worse than when Joseph was sick.”

  Cathy shook her head. “I don’t think so, honey. I think it was horrible both times.”

  “But Joseph came out of it. God healed him.”

  “He sure did.”

  “Don’t you think he’ll heal her, Mom? Don’t you think if we have enough faith that God will honor that?”

  “God always honors faith, honey,” she said, “but his ways are not our ways. And death is something that comes to all of us.”

  “But Sylvia’s too young. She’s just got too much to do. I don’t think God would really want this.” Annie plopped down onto Cathy’s bed, grabbed a Kleenex out of the tissue box. “Mom, do you think this is something from Satan, that he’s afflicted her, cast this disease on her somehow, just a form of spiritual warfare to keep her from doing the work she’s supposed to do?”

  Cathy thought that over for a moment. “I don’t know, honey. I’m not smart enough to answer that question.”

  “I mean, God doesn’t give people cancer, does he?”

  Cathy looked up and saw Steve standing in the doorway. She hoped he could see how ill-equipped she was to answer questions like this. “Steve, come in. Annie has questions. We all have questions.”

  He nodded. “I have them, too.”

  “But you’re the one who knows so much,” she said. “You know the Bible way better than I do.”

  He got onto the king-size bed with them, leaned back against the headboard.

  “I know what you’re gonna say,” Annie muttered. “You’re going to say that cancer happens because of the Fall. But that doesn’t explain anything to me. Why do people always say that?” She wiped her eyes roughly.

  “I don’t know if that’s exactly what I was going to say, but that is part of it. The sin in the Garden of Eden did bring an awful lot of problems into the world.”

  Annie punched the pillow she held. “But it wasn’t Sylvia’s fault that Eve ate the apple. Why does she have to pay?”

  Steve’s face was compassionate as he looked at the forlorn girl. “We all have to pay.”

  “But I don’t understand why that has anything to do with her getting cancer!”

  “It’s why cancer is even in the world,” Steve said. “Before the Fall the world was a perfect place. No disease. No shame. No sin. And then when sin came into the world, all of a sudden we have death and decay. We have a world that gets worse instead of better. Things break down, bodies break down, people get sick and they die.”

  Annie slid off of the bed and slammed the pillow down. “Then it’s better never to have been born at all.”

  Cathy got up and pulled her daughter into her arms. She felt Annie’s sobs as she held her.

  “Some people might think that,” Steve said quietly, “but we’re here for a reason, Annie. Sylvia has done a lot of good while she’s here. You wouldn’t suggest that the world would have been better off if she’d never been born.”

  Annie looked up. Her face was wet and raging red. “No, of course I wouldn’t suggest that. But maybe to her she would have been better off.”

  “I don’t think even she would suggest that,” Cathy said.

  Steve propped his arms on his bent knees. “The fact is, this world is not our home, and these bodies are not our home. Maybe God makes us real uncomfortable in them before he brings us home so that our new glorified bodies will be all the more exciting.”

  Annie still wasn’t buying. “But what about us? The ones they leave?” She turned back to Cathy. “Oh, Mom, what are we gonna do without Miss Sylvia?”

  Cathy didn’t know.

  “What am I saying?” Annie asked. “It’s like I’ve given up on her. Like I’ve already buried her. I’m not giving up. I’m going to keep praying for healing.”

  Cathy nodded. “You do that, honey. I’ll do it too.”

  They hugged again, and Cathy heard the bed creak as Steve got off of it and stepped across the room. He put his arms around both of them, and the three of them cried together.

  CHAPTER

  Sixty-Six

  Sylvia’s chemo treatment on the first day of August—almost a full year after her diagnosis—left her bed-ridden for three days. When she finally felt like emerging back into the world, Harry urged her to go to a cancer support group someone had started in their church. She had avoided it before, thinking it was a self-indulgent pity party.

  But her first meeting surprised her. It wasn’t a pity party or a place of sadness or despair. Instead, she met survivors of cancer, those in the throes of it like herself, family members and loved ones of those who had died.

  They smiled and laughed and shared Scripture. And they shared strategies for coping with the various treatments and the fears plaguing them. By the end of the night, she had a little more energy to her step as she headed back home.

  At the end of the week, Sylvia sat on the floor in the classroom as ten little Down’s Syndrome children sat around her, two of them in wheelchairs, two propped in chairs, and the rest sitting on the floor with their legs crossed. They seemed glad to see her after she had missed several days.

  They each brought their wordless book to the group, anticipating having her lead them through it again. Her hands trembled,
and she felt so weak that the walk down the hall had forced her to stop and rest, but she was glad to be here. She picked up the wordless book and opened to the first page.

  “What color is this, boys and girls?”

  “Yewwo,” Bo cried out.

  Tory laughed and patted his head. “Very good, Bo.”

  “And can anybody tell me what the yellow stands for?”

  “Heben,” one of the children in the wheelchair muttered.

  “That’s right,” Sylvia said. “You’re so smart. It’s heaven, because in heaven there are streets of gold. And the best part about heaven is that somebody we know and love very much lives there. Does anybody know who?”

  “Dod,” one of the children cried out.

  “God. That’s right,” she said, “and the Bible tells us that God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life. Raise your hand if you believe in him.”

  Every one of them lifted their hands, and Sylvia laughed.

  “Now tell me about Jesus. Who is he preparing a place for in heaven?”

  “Me,” one of the children cried out.

  Sylvia clapped her hands with delight, and winked at Tory. The teacher who sat across the room working on the next project for the day laughed as well.

  “But God is holy and perfect,” Sylvia said. “And he can’t allow anything into heaven that isn’t perfect. So there’s one thing that can never be in heaven. Can any of you think what that thing might be?”

  The children got quiet. No one seemed to know the answer until she turned the next page. “What color is this?”

  “Bwak,” Bo cried out.

  “Very good,” she said. “And what does black represent?”

  Bo raised his hand again, not wanting to be overlooked. “Bo, tell me what the black represents.”

  “My hawt,” he said.

  Tory turned her stricken eyes to the boy, then met Sylvia’s eyes. It was working, she seemed to say. He was really getting it.

  “That’s right, Bo. Our hearts. They all have sin, right? We all do bad things sometimes. Everybody. Big or little, young or old. No matter where you live or who you are, you’ve done something bad at some point in your life. And we know that God punishes sin, doesn’t he? He punishes all the bad things we do. But we don’t have to be punished, do we?”

  “No!” One of the children bound to a wheelchair spoke out, and Sylvia caught her breath. He rarely spoke at all, but lately she had watched him following along in his book. She turned the page.

  “What color is this page?”

  “Wed,” someone cried out.

  “That’s right. And what does the red remind us of?”

  “Deezus,” Bo said.

  “Yes, Jesus!” The energy was returning to Sylvia’s limbs, lifting her spirits, reviving her body. “Because God sent Jesus to be born as a little baby and to live a perfect life. He never did anything bad, did he? But he took our punishment, so we wouldn’t have to.” She held up the cross they had made last week out of Popsicle sticks. “What is this?”

  “Cwoss!” someone yelled out.

  “Yes. Jesus died on a cross, to take our punishment. Isn’t that right?” The children all nodded.

  “And so now the heart that’s in us that’s black and bad can be replaced, can’t it? We can have a new heart.” She turned the page to the white page.

  “The white reminds us of a clean heart, doesn’t it? And how can you have a clean heart? You can ask God to take your black, dirty heart away, and give you a new heart.”

  The children hung onto every word, nodding their heads and looking down at the white page in their own books. She turned the page.

  “And what color is this, Bo?”

  “Gween,” he said, proud of himself and grinning at all the kids around him.

  “That’s right,” she said. “And green stands for things that grow, and when you have Jesus in your heart, you want to become more like him. Isn’t that right?”

  Bo nodded his head like he’d written the book himself.

  “And so we pray, and we talk to God, and we read the Bible, and we tell others about Jesus, and we get our mommies and daddies to take us to church. Right? And whenever we do something bad, we can tell God we’re sorry.”

  The children clapped their hands in pure delight, and for a moment, Sylvia forgot her cancer and the pain in her side and back, and her thinning hair, and the next treatment that would send her to bed. She forgot about her fears and her questions and her death. Because here, in this room, there was so much more.

  Tory gestured excitedly as she drove Sylvia home. “I never dreamed these kids could learn colors this young,” she said. “But you’ve not only taught them the colors, you’ve taught them the whole gospel message…and they understand it. That’s just a miracle.”

  “Well, God’s in the business of miracles,” Sylvia said.

  Tory looked at Sylvia, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I hope I can be like you, Sylvia. That I’ll never underestimate the fruit I can bear in any situation.”

  “You will bear fruit, Tory. You will.”

  Exhausted, Sylvia lay her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, certain she would sleep all the way home.

  CHAPTER

  Sixty-Seven

  Two days after Sylvia’s next chemo treatment, Tory took Hannah over, hoping the baby would cheer Sylvia up and get her mind off of her illness. Harry greeted her at the door and led her down the hall.

  Tory stepped into Sylvia’s room. The lamp was on, but darkness still hung on. Sylvia lay in bed, a skinny heap of bones. Her skin was a pallid color, somewhere between death and life, and the hair that had begun to grow back had fallen out again.

  “Sylvia,” Tory said softly, “do you feel like visiting with Hannah and me?”

  Sylvia opened her eyes and squinted up. Tory could see by the look on her face that she nursed a headache, among other things. She thought of leaving, but Sylvia rose up.

  “Give me that baby.”

  Hannah smiled and kicked her feet as Tory laid her next to Sylvia on the bed.

  But the child didn’t want to lie still. Instead, she rolled over and raised up on her hands and knees.

  Sylvia gasped. “Is she crawling?”

  Tory smiled. “Just about. That’s what I wanted you to see.”

  “Put her on the floor,” Sylvia said. “Let me see what she can do.”

  Tory set her on the floor and coaxed her to crawl. Hannah laughed and rocked back and forth on her hands and knees. “While she’s been in the nursery without me, she’s developed this awareness of the kids around her. And she’s started trying to do what they do.”

  Sylvia forced herself to sit up, but Tory wondered if that was wise. She looked as if she might collapse if the air conditioner blew too hard.

  “Crawl for Miss Sylvia.” Sylvia clapped her hands. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s see you do it.”

  Instead of crawling, Hannah grabbed the bedspread, and started to pull up.

  Sylvia reached for her, and the child stretched up. “Tory!” she said. “She’s going to stand up.”

  “No way,” Tory said. “She can’t stand.”

  “Watch.” Sylvia took the child’s little fists, and pulled her up carefully, until her dimpled little legs locked beneath her.

  Tory squealed and began to clap, and Hannah looked over at her, surprised. Sylvia picked her up like an Olympic star, cheering and clapping.

  Tory started to cry. “Sylvia, she stood up. She stood up!”

  “She sure did,” Sylvia said. “Who would have thought this little thing could make me feel better?” She set Hannah on her lap, and made the baby clap her own hands.

  “Do you know what this means, Sylvia? She’ll walk someday. She’ll walk on her own two feet, and her legs will hold her up, probably without a brace. Don’t you think so? Don’t you think she’ll walk?”

  “I know she will
.” She set her back down, hoping she would do it again. Tory helped the child pull back up as Sylvia lay back and watched.

  When the child did it one more time, they both cheered, and Hannah laughed and brought her own fat little hands together.

  Tory knew better than to stay much longer. Sylvia was waning.

  “Well, I’d better get her home before she forgets how to do it,” Tory said.

  Sylvia smiled. “Thank you for bringing her over, Tory. What a gift.”

  “And who knew she was going to give it to you? Now if she’ll only do it for Daddy. When I tell Spencer and Brittany, they probably won’t leave her alone for the rest of the night. They’ll insist on having her walking by morning.”

  “Don’t ever underestimate her.” Sylvia reached out for a hug, and Tory bent down.

  “I love you,” Tory said. “You get better, okay? Call if you need me.”

  “I’ll be as good as new in a couple of days.”

  “Good,” she said. “Because our class is having their school program, and I don’t want you to miss it.”

  Sylvia’s face brightened. “I’ll be there,” she said. “Nothing could stop me.”

  CHAPTER

  Sixty-Eight

  The package from León came on a day when Sylvia desperately needed it. A week after her chemo, she hadn’t bounced back, and the pain in her liver had grown more intense. Her back had begun to hurt so badly that she could hardly stand up straight, and she’d started having headaches that wouldn’t let go.

  The package made her get out of bed, and when Harry pulled the video out, she actually managed to get dressed and put on her wig.

  “Call Annie,” she said. “I want her to come watch it with us.”

  Annie dropped everything and hurried over. She sat on the love seat next to Sylvia, watching the children they had ministered to so diligently for the last year of her life.

  Each child had a message for Mama Sylvia. Juan, her favorite who rarely left her side when she was there, smiled into the camera. In Spanish, he blurted, “Mama Sylvia, one of the new doctor men gave us Reeses. I saved half of mine for you.” He held up the half-eaten peanut butter cup. “Please hurry back. It smells very good.”