I’ve mentioned already in these pages my battle against cancer many years ago. That was a defining season in my life. Certainly one in which my world was turned upside down—not just once but many times in rapid succession. And certainly one in which I desperately needed every gift my heavenly Father was willing to give so that I could continue pressing forward in my race.
In sharing that story here (briefly, I promise), my goal is not to highlight my struggles. Instead, I want to show how those struggles produced fortitude in me. They helped me develop a strength not only for that moment but one that has allowed me to weather the ups and downs and difficulties of life in every season since.
It all began on an ordinary Monday morning with what should have been a routine checkup. It was still early as I arrived at the Center for Executive Health in La Jolla. The exam got underway at 7:45 A.M. with the interview, and I handled the usual barrage of questions from the nurses armed with their clipboards. Then I was ushered over into another part of the clinic for an EKG stress test. It went smoothly, and I could tell my numbers were good ones.
So far, so good. I smiled with satisfaction as the doctors nodded and made little checks on their notepads. They stroked their chins and admitted that I was in pretty fair shape for a grizzled fifty-three-year-old veteran of life’s trenches. Better still, the physical exam was downhill all the way after the EKG. I had been through all this before, and it was easy to tell that I was checking out fine on the remaining tests. The men in the white coats gave me the thumbs-up at every point.
Late in the morning, I was taken to an examining room, where I met the head physician. He asked me to lie face up on the table, and I complied. The doctor began to go over my body from head to toe.
Soon I’ll have this whole thing behind me, I thought. It will feel good to have another successful physical in the books. The white coats will hand me the bill and show me the door. I’ll be free to climb into my van, drive back down the highway, and get on with my crowded agenda. And I’ll have a little extra spring in my step, knowing that for one more round, I’ve come out victorious in the battle against time and corruption.
Those were my thoughts. That’s when the bomb fell.
As the doctor probed the left side of my abdomen, he said, “Dr. Jeremiah, you have a mass here in your abdomen that causes me some concern. It feels to me as if your spleen is greatly enlarged.”
I felt my heart skip a beat. “What do you think it is?” I asked.
“I can’t say,” he replied quietly, “until we see a CAT scan of that part of your body.”
That’s it. Three sentences—a handful of words—brought a crowded, thriving life to a screeching halt. As I sat up and dressed myself, I struggled to absorb the doctor’s words. My mind launched into “spin-control” mode, searching for positive angles.
I had my scan late that afternoon in the radiology center across the street and was informed that results would be available the following day. At least the suspense wouldn’t be prolonged; within hours I would be given words of comfort—or something else.
I was shell-shocked that afternoon as I went through the motions of the scan and closed out my business with the clinic. I was still in a daze as I made my way back to my home in El Cajon.
How was I going to handle this news bulletin there? This was something I needed to handle carefully—it was, after all, a bomb. I knew that Donna, my wife, planned to leave the next day to visit her mother in New Hampshire. She would be scrambling around the house, packing suitcases and orchestrating last-minute arrangements. She’d have that happy, busy glow about her, energized by the anticipation of her trip.
That’s why I decided to keep silent. Why rain on her parade? At this point, everything was preliminary and tentative. I decided to let this evening be a bright one for at least one of us. I refused to ruin a pleasant trip for my loving wife.
So I kept the curtains tightly shut on the black clouds inside me. I smiled and made the best I could of the situation. The next morning, I drove Donna to the airport and watched her plane disappear into the blue, trouble-free sky that still existed for other people. Then I headed to my office, where I sat and watched my telephone, waiting for the call that would reveal my earthly fate. The moments ticked by slowly, and every ring was a false alarm.
Finally that afternoon, I picked up the receiver and heard the doctor’s calm voice on the other end of the line. I listened desperately for a victorious affirmation—words about tests that came back negative, about lumps that were less than they seemed. I wanted those words desperately, and I poured out my soul praying for them.
But those words were not available to me. Instead, the doctor’s fears were confirmed—I had a mass on my spleen.
The doctor carefully explained to me that three radiologists examined the scan and shared the firm opinion that I had lymphoma, a cancer that attacks the lymphatic system, of which the spleen is the center. We talked for a few minutes, then I returned the receiver to the cradle of the telephone. The most terrible phone call of my life was over. I felt emptiness and despair rising up inside me.
It was Tuesday, the day for the staff meeting at our church—another difficult hurdle in my current state of turmoil. I kept the meeting short, dismissing it after a brief time of prayer. Then I sought out my close friend and staff member Dr. Ken Nichols and beckoned him into my office. I closed the door carefully, sat down beside him, and shared with him the details of my physical and the prognosis. He was the first person with whom I shared the crisis. We cried, embraced, and prayed. Then we pulled ourselves together and began to think about what to do.
Ken had an idea. He remembered a longtime friend of mine—Dr. Marv Eastlund of Fort Wayne, Indiana. I’ve known him since I was a pastor there many years ago. Dr. Eastlund is not only a knowledgeable physician, but he is also an experienced sufferer who spent six weeks in Mayo Clinic for a pancreatic disorder.
Ken thought Dr. Eastlund might be able to help, and that sounded good to me. I made the call, and Dr. Eastlund didn’t hesitate before issuing a directive: go to Mayo Clinic immediately. My kind friend promised to make a phone call to expedite things for me. In a matter of hours, I had an appointment at the Mayo Clinic.
On Thursday morning of that same week, I boarded a plane heading eastward. I was traveling on business—I was scheduled to speak at rallies in New Hampshire and Maine to support our Turning Point radio ministry. My friends Steve and Susan Caudill were flying with me. The plan was for Donna to meet us in Manchester, New Hampshire, at the first rally. As so often happens with air travel, the connections were perilously tight; we arrived at the rally with just enough time for me to kiss Donna hello and hurry to the platform.
The event was thrilling, and it lifted my spirits. The building was packed with fifteen hundred excited listeners. Several of them gave their hearts to Christ that night, securing their eternal destinies. Just at the time I was having a close encounter with death, these wonderful souls were having their first encounters with eternal life. I shook hands, chatted with folks, and signed books and Bibles until the last of the crowd went home.
On the way back to the hotel, Donna and I stopped for a late dinner. That’s where the thrill of the evening wore off. I became pensive over my plate because I knew that the time had come to level with my wife about the week’s events.
We found our hotel and settled into the room, unpacking our things and turning down the sheets. Then I sat down on the bed and opened to Donna those dark curtains of my soul. I told her the whole story of three days of despair. When I finished, we cried and prayed and held each other through most of the night.
There, far from our home, on the other side of the continent—there, in a strange hotel—we huddled together to face the most challenging moment of thirty-plus years of marriage.
The rallies came to an end, and Donna and I returned home at last. There were more doctors’ examinations and troublesome hours of sorting out insurance questions. Our ministry had begun a new insurance plan at the beginning of October, and that coverage would not extend to a trip to Mayo. It looked as if we’d have to settle for surgery in San Diego. I had a date with the doctors for Tuesday morning at Sharp Hospital, at which time my spleen would be removed.
My condition was no longer a secret; I’d begun to call some of my network of ministry friends around the country. I coveted their prayers. One of these men was Lowell Davey, president of the Bible Broadcasting Network. When I called him and described my situation, he responded without hesitation, “David, you are going to Mayo Clinic! If your insurance will not cover it, I’ll raise the money myself.” I think you’ll understand that by this time, Donna and I were spent.
The emotional roller coaster had left us dizzy and exhausted. I told Lowell that my surgery was scheduled for Tuesday morning at seven forty-five—only five days from then. I set a condition. “If you can get me into Mayo Clinic on Monday morning,” I said, “then I’ll go.”
Two hours later, I received a phone call from a doctor at Mayo Clinic, calling to confirm my appointment at seven forty-five Monday morning. I was astounded, to put it mildly. True friendship is a powerful force for strength and encouragement.
With our minds finally set on a course of action, I began to prepare myself for the weekend. I was scheduled to officiate at a wedding for the daughter of my administrative secretary on Saturday afternoon at three o’clock. Once again, I was mindful of my personal situation casting a pall over someone else’s joyful occasion—particularly in the case of a wedding. I asked for the couple to be kept in the dark about my crisis until after the ceremony. This was their once-in-a-lifetime day, and it should be filled with joy.
The next morning, I preached at both services. The Lord once again honored His Word. But this was not just another Sunday for me. Afterward, I told Donna that in twenty-five years of preaching, I’d never felt the presence of the Lord as I did that day. Other preachers know this feeling—at times it was almost as if I were sitting on a pew in the back of my mind, listening to someone else preach. I was deeply aware of Paul’s statement, “When I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:10). I’d never been so weak, and He’d never seemed so strong.
That afternoon, we flew east, this time toward Mayo Clinic. During my first appointment, there were rounds of blood tests, physical examinations, and more questions. Finally I met with the first doctor. She went over the results and confirmed the diagnosis of lymphoma. She also made the arrangements for my next appointment, in the department of hematology.
When she called hematology, she was told that no opening would be available until Thursday. My heart sank. This was Monday! Three days seemed like an eternity, and I had work to do back home. How could we wait here for seventy-two hours? The doctor sensed my desperation. She considered quietly for a minute and finally said, “I know one of the doctors in that department. Let me call him.”
The doctor called her friend, and I heard her say into the phone, “He’s a pastor from San Diego. His name is David Jeremiah.” Then a look of surprise splashed across her face. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to me. “He knows you!” she said. Speaking into the phone, she said, “Does that mean you’ll see him this afternoon?”
It did. I was instructed to head right over.
My doctor had been speaking to a colleague named Dr. Thomas Witzig, who had once heard me speak at Moody Founder’s Week. Dr. Witzig is a wonderful Christ-follower, and it pleased me greatly to discover that he would be the lead physician. When we sat down to talk, he walked me through the procedures to come during the next few days. Dr. Witzig agreed that surgery was required, and it was scheduled for Tuesday morning at the Methodist Hospital in the Mayo Clinic complex.
That’s where I went the next morning. The surgery lasted about two hours and revealed that the lymphoma was centered in the area immediately around my spleen. The surgeons decided to leave the spleen in place; it was actually not as diseased as they had anticipated. This was the first tentatively hopeful medical news we’d received, and you can imagine our gratitude.
The doctors patiently educated Donna and me about my condition. They explained that lymphoma is a treatable form of cancer. There are never any guarantees with this dreaded enemy, but we at least had the possibility for recovery through chemotherapy—and that made hope possible.
We held tightly to that hope. Our spirits basked in the prayers, support, and encouragement of our church family and friends; we fed on their support and felt strengthened for the battle ahead. But in the midst of all the love and affirmation, it was the Lord, “a stronghold in the day of trouble” (Nahum 1:7), who knew the needs of my body and soul most deeply. It was He who walked with me through the valley of the shadow, He who lavished upon me a deeper, more personal experience of His presence than I’d ever known before. As I sought refuge in His Word, I found consolation beyond description for my troubled spirit.
Again and again I was reminded of the words of the apostle Paul. Long ago he was confronted with death and fear, and perhaps he experienced emotions a bit like my own. Paul was so gifted and had a heart eager to minister, yet he was forced to bide his time in a dark prison. I know Paul asked God the same questions I have asked, and I’m grateful he recorded God’s answers: “And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Corinthians 12:9).
God’s grace is sufficient—I can tell you it’s true.
You’ve had a similar experience, I’m sure. Maybe not cancer, but somewhere along your own path, you’ve faced circumstances you never expected or wished to encounter. I hope you’ve found it helpful, as I have, to read encouraging words from fellow strugglers.
Gordon MacDonald is a friend and fellow struggler. His fine book The Life God Blesses has ministered to me more richly than I can tell you. Gordon writes with wonderful insight about the methods God uses to bring blessing into the lives of His servants. In one chapter, he coins a term to describe one of those tools. He calls them “disruptive moments.” According to Gordon, disruptive moments are “those unanticipated events, most of which one would usually have chosen to avoid had it been possible.”1 He adds, “We don’t like disruptive moments; they are too often associated with pain and inconvenience, failure and humiliation. Not that they have to be, but that seems the way of the human condition.”2
Disruptive moments make it seem as if the world is upside down.
Few of us ever fully grasp that simple but painful biblical truth: the heat of suffering is a refiner’s fire, purifying the gold of godly character and wisdom. Wouldn’t we rather it be a simpler, more comfortable process? But we know life simply doesn’t play out that way. Everything worthy in this world comes at a price.
The Russian writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn understood the fullest implications of that idea. The point was driven home for him during long years of solitude and suffering in prison, the price he paid for writing a few words of truth about his government. He knew something of disruptive moments and wrote,
It was only when I lay there on rotting prison straw that I sensed within myself the first stirrings of good. Gradually it was disclosed to me that the line separating good and evil passes, not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either, but right through every human heart, and through all human hearts. . . . So bless you, prison, for having been in my life.3
Can I say, “Bless you, prison” about my deepest trials? Can you bless the prisons that loom in the future? It takes a deep spiritual wisdom to cultivate that ability—a profound faith that God loves us and that His purposes are truly right for us.
M. Scott Peck begins his bestseller The Road Less Traveled with three simple, indisputable words: “Life is difficult.” Who will argue with that? Life is difficult.
My cancer diagnosis confirmed Peck’s words. It was a profoundly disruptive moment in my life. This was no mere bump in the road; it felt like a gigantic and bottomless pothole. It opened up in my road quite suddenly, with no highway markers to warn me, and I plunged into its darkness. I had not been offered alternate routes or given a vote on the matter.
Life is difficult, and difficulty is the only path to wisdom.
Where are you, traveler? Perhaps you’re facing a disruptive moment in your life, one you never could have anticipated. Perhaps your road has led to a divorce, a death, a financial disaster, a physical or mental sickness, or the heartbreak of seeing a fellow traveler wander away from the path. Maybe the bend in your road is something so disappointing and devastating that you can hardly bear to acknowledge it. You could be standing by the side of your path, so overcome by pain that you believe you can’t move on.
Please remember this: your crisis is important to God. Could it be that you’re looking at it from your own perspective? That’s not the way our Father behaves toward us. Whatever struggle or setback you face is intended to empower and purify you. Your situation is important to Him because He is using it to make you a more valuable servant in His kingdom.
Let me remind you that your disruptive moments have strengthened you, whether you realize it or not. They have blessed you with fortitude—with the ability to handle bumpy roads in addition to smooth. I know it hasn’t been easy, but God has used those difficulties to equip you so that you can continue your race no matter what obstacles may appear in your path.
Having lived through some very disruptive moments of my own, I want to give you five principles to remember as you continue keeping the faith. They’ve helped me, and I trust they’ll be just as valuable in your own travels down that long and winding road.
Second Corinthians 12 identifies the thorn as Satan’s messenger sent to test and torment Paul. But the devil wasn’t given free rein; he couldn’t do anything to Paul that God wouldn’t allow. Remember Job? Satan was allowed to test him, but only with the permission and conditions prescribed by God. Paul and Job always remembered that God was ultimately in control.
The Father is the One who disciplines His children—Hebrews 12 makes that very clear. Every trial we face, difficult as it may be, comes from the hand of God, who loves us and wants us to grow. If we’re wise enough, we will see that disruptive moments are really divine appointments.
That perspective will make all the difference for you. It will keep you from lashing out at God in despair. It will keep you from giving in to discouragement. You will say, “God, You are in control—You have a plan, and that’s why You have allowed this to happen in my life.”
Some years ago I was given a copy of a letter that I can imagine being written by God to someone going through a disruptive moment. It remains as poignant and pertinent now as it did then.
My child, I have a message for you today; let Me whisper it in your ear, that it may gild with glory any storm clouds which may arise, and smooth the rough places upon which you may have to tread. It is short—only five words—but let them sink into your inmost soul; use them as a pillow upon which to rest your weary head:
THIS THING IS FROM ME.
Have you ever thought of it, that all that concerns you, concerns Me, too? For “he that touches you, touches the apple of His eye” (Zechariah 2:8).
I would have you learn, when temptations assail you, and the “enemy comes in like a flood,” that this thing is from Me; that your weakness needs My might, and your safety lies in letting Me fight for you.
You are very “precious in My sight” (Isaiah 43:4). Therefore it is My special delight to educate you.
Are you in money difficulties? Is it hard to make both ends meet? This thing is from Me, for I am your purse-bearer, and would have you draw from and depend upon Me. My supplies are limitless (Philippians 4:19). I would have you prove My promises. Let it not be said of you, “you did not believe the LORD your God” (Deuteronomy 1:32).
Are you in difficult circumstances, surrounded by people who do not understand you, who never consult your taste, who put you in the background? This thing is from Me. I am the God of circumstances. You came not to this place by accident; it is the very place God meant for you. Have you not asked to be made humble? See, then, I have placed you in the very school where this lesson is taught; your surroundings and companions are only working out My will.
Are you passing through a night of sorrow? This thing is from Me.
I am the “Man of Sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” I have let earthly comforters fail you, that, by turning to Me, you may obtain everlasting consolation (2 Thessalonians 2:16–17).
Has some friend disappointed you? One to whom you opened your heart? This thing is from Me. I have allowed this disappointment to come, that you may learn.
I want to be your Confidant. Has someone repeated things about you that are untrue? Leave them to Me, and draw closer to Me, thy shelter out of reach of “the strife of tongues,” for I “shall bring forth My righteousness as the light, and My judgment as the noonday” (Psalm 37:6).
Have your plans been upset? Are you bowed down and weary?
This thing is from Me. You made your plans, then came asking Me to bless them; but I would have you let Me plan for you, and then I take the responsibility; for “this thing is too much for you, you are not able to perform it by yourself” (Exodus 18:18). You are only an instrument, not an agent.
Have you longed to do some great work for Me, and instead been laid aside on a bed of pain and weakness? This thing is from Me. I could not get your attention in your busy days, and I want to teach you some of My deepest lessons. “They also serve who only stand and wait.” Some of My greatest workers are those shut out from active service, that they may learn to wield the weapon of prayer.
Are you suddenly called upon to occupy a difficult and responsible position? Launch out on Me. I am trusting you with the possession of difficulties. “For this thing the LORD your God will bless you in all your works and in all to which you put your hand” (Deuteronomy 15:10).
This day I place in your hands this pot of holy oil; make use of it freely, My child. Let every circumstance as it arises, every word that pains you, every interruption that would make you impatient, every revelation of your own weakness, be anointed with it! Remember, interruptions are divine instructions. The sting will go as you learn to see Me in all things.
Therefore “set your hearts on all the words which I testify among you today . . . For it is not a futile thing for you, because it is your life, and by this word you shall prolong your days in the land” (Deuteronomy 32:46–47).4
The moment we accept the fact that our ordeal has been permitted, even intended, by God, our perspective on disruptive moments will totally change. We will find ourselves saying, “God, You have allowed this in my life. I don’t understand it, but I know that it couldn’t have happened to me unless it was filtered through Your loving hands. So, this thing is from You.”
We live in a skin-deep world. Our culture glorifies clothing, fashion, makeup, tummy tucks, and nose jobs. There may be nothing wrong with any of these, but in the end they are only cosmetic. Character and substance are shaped in the crucible of adversity. Show me someone who lives a carefree life with no problems or trials or dark nights of the soul, and I’ll show you a shallow person.
Unless there is pain in the formula, we will never stop to listen carefully to what He is saying. We’ll be moving along happily, thinking we’re going somewhere—but in reality, we’re only spinning our wheels. We’re not making any progress at all toward the deeper things our Father longs to show us. Sometimes He must allow us to stumble along the everyday journey. We’re wounded and filled with pain, yet our disaster is just the opposite of what it seems; it’s the demonstration of God’s “tough love”—His determination to teach us and to make us wiser and stronger.
Life, then, brings all of us disruptions. It’s up to us to choose our response. It can make us bitter, or it can make us better.
If we choose to let the disruptive moment make us better, we will toughen up. Listen again to Gordon MacDonald:
The spiritual masters have taught us . . . that the one who would get in touch with his soul must do so with diligence and determination. One must overcome feelings, fatigue, distractions, errant appetites, and popular opinion. One must not be afraid of silence, of stillness, or of entering the overpowering presence of divinity with a humble spirit.5
One of the more urgent themes in Scripture is the voice of God saying to us over and over, “My grace is sufficient. My strength is made perfect in weakness. You are My child, and I will deal with you as My child.”
I’d like to direct you to one more snapshot from Scripture that completes the picture of God’s provision in times of pain. You’ll find it in John 15:1–8:
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.
“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples” (NIV).
In this passage, Jesus borrowed a word picture from the plant kingdom. He explained that because He loves us, He must do some pruning in order for us to thrive and blossom. Do you understand how this principle works in gardening? Even with green things, God’s concept of discipline holds true.
But the Gardener is loving and devoted. Warren Wiersbe said, “Your heavenly Father is never nearer to you than when He is pruning you.” That statement is right on the mark. You will find this truth consistently affirmed in the lives of wise, godly people who have faced disruptive moments. They will look at you and say without hesitation, “Never in all my life have I sensed the closeness and provision of God as I did when I came to the bend in the road. Never before have I been more fruitful than I’ve been since I came through that season when everything seemed upside down.”
You can struggle against the disruptive moment, shake your fist at the heavens, and find yourself exhausted, defeated, and in despair—or you can accept the moment and let it train and strengthen you. When you take the latter course, you’ll discover on the other side more power, more holiness, and more fruit. Those are precious gifts that cannot be purchased with any coin other than tears. When you possess them, you’ll comprehend with joy what God wanted so much for you to experience in your life.
God allows no pain without purpose. Instead, He uses pain to dispense power. Once again, His power can rest upon you only when you’ve abandoned the idea that you’re big enough to go it alone. You’re not big enough; you’ll never make it without depending utterly upon Him and going in His strength. You’re destined to fail without righteousness and holiness. And some pruning must take place, with sharpened shears, to cut away those things that would prevent righteousness and holiness in your life. But how liberated you will be, how free to grow toward the heavens, after that pruning is accomplished!
Every plant, of course, must weather a storm every now and then. Ron Mehl wrote,
Someone once told me that the times when plants grow the most are not necessarily during the warm, gentle rains or beautiful summer days. In fact, during fierce winds and raging storms come times of the most growth. Botanists tell us that if you were to take a cross-section of the earth during a vicious storm, you could literally observe the roots reaching further down into the soil.6
Can you feel it when the heavens open up and the wind and the rains thrash you? Can you feel your roots reaching ever deeper into His loving care?
Everything God had given me to do was growing and thriving. The size of our church had doubled. The number of listeners to our Turning Point nationwide radio ministry had doubled. The books I had written were finding larger audiences. People were responding to our ministry. All of this was for the glory of God. And then, right in the midst of all these blessings came the disruptive moment. On the face of things, it seemed to make so little sense.
Have you had that kind of experience? Just when you had everything lined up in your life exactly as you wanted things to be, you experienced an unwelcome and unanticipated disaster that spoiled everything. And you asked many questions, all beginning with the word why.
“Why this, Lord?” you might ask. “Why now? Why not later? Why not someone else?”
We all ask the “why” questions. They’re a natural part of being human. But we can ask better questions—we can ask “what” questions: “What, Lord? What would You have me do? What are You trying to teach me?”
I’ve faced pain, disappointment, doubt, and despair. In the midst of my trials, I’ve stopped asking the “why” questions and begun to focus on the “what” questions.
Believe me, you can do the same! Even in the most difficult of circumstances. Even when your entire world has been turned on its head. Even when you feel far too weak and far too tired to reach the finish line. Choose to keep the faith. Receive His strength. Don’t give up!
I pray that the words of hope you have found in this book will uplift and comfort you as they have me. And I hope my prayer becomes your prayer too:
Lord, what do You want to teach me to make me a better person? What are Your plans to make me more effective? Lead me and guide me through this process, O Lord. Be my teacher; show me Your ways. And don’t let me miss any lesson You’ve prepared for me.