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Please

Ria Mills

When God is your first choice all other choices become easier.

The rest will follow automatically.

When one has been through a great trial or when something unbelievably painful has happened in your life, something exceptionally traumatic, people often ask questions along the following lines:

 What choices did you make at this juncture in your life?

 How have these choices influenced your life thus far?

 What challenges did you experience after you made your choice? and

 In your opinion, what would the consequences have been had you chosen an opposite direction?

My answer to most of these questions is simple: I really don’t know, because most of these choices were probably made for me by my Creator, who knew what was best for me. He took over and made decisions on my behalf when I was too bewildered to make any choices of my own.

The consequences, had I chosen a different direction? I would have sunk; I would have perished, I would have drowned in despair.

This is not really my story. I am not the main character in this tale. The main characters are my son, particularly, but also my husband. They play the lead roles. I am merely sharing my emotions on what happened to them.

Sometimes one is – fortunately or otherwise – not afforded the opportunity to make some of the very greatest choices in life oneself. As a human being, you are merely allowed to make the other choices in given circumstances, because the Great Master Himself has decided what will happen to you. He gives you the space to make smaller or bigger decisions in relation to His big decision. My humble experience is that He is constantly there to take over when you are no longer able to do anything and can only ask: please please please ... That was how I experienced my part of the story.

This little tale of “choices in my life” doesn’t begin at the very beginning. It begins about 10 years ago, or to be precise, nine years and ten months ago.

My choices before then were so easy. I grew up in a home where I knew and believed from early childhood that there was a Creator who was always there for those who believed. My primary and high school years were also characterised by Christian education. It was always easy. You could commit your wishes, hopes and concerns to God and He would provide – it was never an issue! Everything would be fine – and usually was.

When I had my own family, all choices still remained easy; again everything went smoothly. Our children achieved well in whatever they did; sometimes even above average.

My husband cared well for us and gave us much love. Again, choices were straightforward. It was easy to believe in God’s grace and mercy. We were never confronted with serious choices that would have been life-changing or had any radical effect on our beliefs.

From time to time I did read about important choices and decisions in the Bible – important earthly decisions related to material, faith or life-changing issues. I would perhaps consider them for a minute or two, reflect on them for while – and then forget about them again.

I read about St Peter’s choice to deny his relationship with Jesus. I read of Jonah’s decision to free and rather brave the dangers of the sea. I read about Moses who decided to strike the rock instead of just touching it with his staff ... and his senseless decision to fashion a golden calf. I read about Judas’ decision to betray Jesus. I even judged these people in my mind, because my own choices were never made in times of total despair; of feeling totally overwhelmed by circumstances! My life knew no despair! And my choices, as a result, were very easy.

When I read about Abraham, who had to decide whether to sacrifice his son, I would quickly turn the page. What a terrifying, superhuman and unthinkable choice to make! Mary’s choices after Jesus’ crucifixion filled me with admiration and awe. Because my greatest fear, as long as I can remember, was – and still is – that of losing a child. There has been no greater fear in my life.

One terrifying, unthinkable day, a choice had to be made. There wasn’t a moment’s doubt in my mind ... My choice was for life, irrespective of the future – because I knew that God had no limits. That He was not bound by time, and that He would also be there in future, regardless.

On 8 December 2000, my son, at the time a general practitioner in a small rural hospital on the border with Swaziland, was involved in an accident. He fell asleep at the wheel on the way home from the hospital. He sustained a neck injury, but – thank God – there was no damage to the spinal cord – he was not going to be paralysed!

The day after the accident, he was taken to theatre for surgery to stabilise the neck fracture. During or right after the operation, a blood clot lodged in the pons, a part of the brain stem. My child had a stroke. He was 26 years old and in real, serious danger of his life – and stayed there for months!

People sometimes report that everything feels “unreal” at a time like this, like a movie playing in front of their eyes. This was not my experience. Not a single moment felt mercifully unreal or dreamlike; every second was brutal, frightening, true, genuine terrifying! All I could pray, over and over and over, was the insignificant little word “please”. I kept repeating it, over and over – and waited and knew that a God Almighty had to and would make the choice. There was too much and too little I wanted to ask and pray. Besides, I didn’t know exactly what to ask since I really had no idea of the prognosis and consequences of a blood clot in the pons. The only choice I had in my ignorance – and exercised – was to trust the God over Life and Death with the word “please”.

Another, probably naïve, choice was to shift into an Old Testament mode immediately after the accident. I, who had never in my life been confronted by such a terrifying choice, tried to negotiate with God. “If I were never ever in my life again to do or say this thing or the next (or conversely if I were to do or say something), would you then please let my child live?” What could I offer or give up that would be of enough value to pay for the life of my child? I was more idiotic than Jonah, Peter and Moses together!

It’s strange. At times I would recall with sharp clarity some graphic images from a film I was working on at the time. The theme: How the earth was born. How everything had come into existence, according to the experts. I remembered the depiction of the mighty powers and explosions that helped form the earth and sea ... that tore continents apart and shifted the sea ... and every time prayed, stricken with fear, to get my child back, I remembered about an ordinary person’s depiction of the all-might and power of an almighty God. And then I knew that He, who could do that, could just give a single thought to my child and he would be well – he would walk and talk and live.

When everything collapsed around me, I remembered, through a movie created by humans, how He could transform indescribable chaos into order that surpassed human understanding. “The earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God brooded over the waters. And God said, ‘Let there be light.’ And there was light.” Strangely, this particular image kept on reappearing in my thoughts.

There was one very short passage in the New Testament that I read over and over – like an echo among cliff faces the end of which one cannot see – and repeated it in my mind. I held on to these few words above everything else.

Strangely, it wasn’t the part where Jairus’ daughter was raised from the dead. Neither was it the story of Lazarus or the one of the man whose son was healed when Jesus drove out the demons. It was none of the wonderful stories of miracles around sick people. I held on to Mark 4:35–41, where Jesus calmed the storm, and specifically His words: Why are you so afraid? Do you have no faith? From the whole Bible, these were the ten words I chose; my anchor when I felt I was sinking.

The hours and days in the Intensive Care Unit of two hospitals became weeks, and the weeks became months, and still I clung to those two sentences from a Bible with a thousand other encouraging verses. Just those ten words were enough for me!

During this time other, strange choices also appeared on my path.

At one point my son was sharing a ward with a man of Jewish descent. His brother was a rabbi. One day the rabbi asked me whether he could pray for my son. The question was simple, but the choice was unbelievably difficult in my chaotic mind. If I said “yes”, would God punish me and let my son die? Or if I said “no”, would God then let my son die?

There were other, similar choices: the Hindu woman who also wanted to pray for him and bless him. The woman from one of our sister churches who wanted to serve us with Holy Communion at his bed. The four women who invited me to their home and asked me to confess my sins to them so that they could pray for me and my son would get well. What was I to choose? Would my child die if I answered “yes” to all or some of these requests, or would he die if I refused?

Who could give me the right answers and show me the right direction? What would be the right choice? Should I ask my minister or should I wait until the right answer was revealed to me? Was this perhaps a further direct attack of the evil one to confront me with these strange requests and circumstances? How will I respond to these situations with wisdom and insight and, above all, with the right choices?

I didn’t know then and still don’t know whether, in my human frailty, I made the right choices or not. What I do know is that God’s might and mercy and love are greater than the worst choices we might make in life.

If I look back to that time of the most destructive storm imaginable in our life as a family, when we were nearly destroyed, I try to recall choices we had to make consciously as well as the choices we were unaware of.

My wonderful son was changed in the blink of an eye from a lively, young, dynamic doctor to a person who was locked into his own body. He could not breathe by himself, could not move and could not swallow – not even his own saliva. We had no way of knowing whether he could see or hear. We did not know whether he would survive. The doctors were open with us and did not give us much hope.

He was diagnosed with the feared and extremely rare condition known as locked-in syndrome or man-in-the-barrel syndrome (MIBS). Medical textbooks describe the condition as follows:

Locked-in syndrome is a catastrophic condition that prevents an individual from voluntarily moving any muscles of the body, other than those that control eye movement. As a result, the individual cannot move or speak, although some communication is possible through blinking or eye movements. Despite the devastating loss of function, an individual with locked-in syndrome is completely conscious and aware, able to think and reason normally. Luckily, locked-in syndrome is exceedingly rare. About 40%–70% of people suffering from locked-in syndrome die within a short time of suffering the causative injury.

For me, the situation was a definite reality, but my emotions were, in retrospect, not really in touch with any reality. I tried in vain to rationalise and “realise” everything, especially my choices as to what I was or was not allowed to do, or what I had to or did not have to do.

There was a small Catholic church on the way to the hospital where my son was lying, and I would stop there to pray. I simply prayed my usual prayer of “please”, and even that was initially a problem for me. Suddenly even that was something I had to make a conscious choice about. The question then was: “Should I not rather look for a Protestant church that might just possibly be open, and rather go and pray there?” How ridiculous and confused my fears and anguish were about the choices I had to make!

My everyday choices were necessarily also influenced by what well-meaning people said around me and to me. Words like “These things happen only to people who can bear them. I would never be able to bear such a thing.” Immediately the anguish would come again: What have I done? Did I perhaps have an arrogant attitude? Could my God be testing me in such a distressing way to see whether I can indeed bear such pain? Did I make a wrong choice somewhere along the way?

Or other words that stuck with me for a long time: “Yes, such things happen to a person to call you back to God, to remind you (and all of us) that we must mend our ways … if we and all his friends don’t take this as a wake-up call, I guess nothing will ever bring us back to God.” Then I thought: But have I wandered so far from my God that He had to use something so terrible to bring me back? What awfully sinful choice, or choices, did I make to bring this dreadful thing on us? Or even the following comment: “Yes, I guess one must probably never be too proud of one’s children! You never know what can happen to them!” Oh, Father, please, please, please forgive me if I was too proud of my child ... if my words and deeds and choices made you angry!

These thoughts were like a child on the beach trying to fill the dam he has made with sea water. He runs back and forth with his little bucket between the sea and the dam. The sea does not empty and his dam does not fill up. All the activity and the confusing emotions were so totally and completely in vain.

For 22 months I sat at the hospital every day, usually from nine in the morning till nine at night. I was there of my own free will. I decided to put my life on hold, not because I’m brave or special, but simply because, for those 22 months, my whole life was focused on what would happen to my child at that moment on that day. What would his temperature be, his oxygen uptake figures, or would he possibly, just possibly begin to swallow, or – miracle of miracles: could there possibly, just possibly today please please be the beginning of a flickering of movement somewhere, anywhere, in his body? Perhaps today he might indicate in some way that he could hear us … or even see us.

My choices born of necessity did not begin and end with my child’s accident, the 22 months in the hospital and the time after that, or his still ongoing, on-dragging rehabilitation.

A year ago, my son and I (he in a wheelchair, with movement only in his left hand and arm) were held up in our house during an armed robbery.

My husband was shot later and lost one of his kidneys as a result. Once again, we went through months of someone being hospitalised. All the previous clichés did the rounds again and once more I was confronted by unbearable choices.

But once again, God made choices on my behalf when I was too confused to make them myself. In His great might He taught me again that I need never make the choice myself between bitterness and trust, fear or peace of mind, because if you keep asking “please”, you never become bitter, and if you still keep on asking “please”, the fear does not last forever. The choice is actually so easy.

Every person has a choice as to what he or she will do when something terrible has happened in his or her life. You always have several different choices, regardless of the circumstances. Your choice can be to be furious or sad or scared or worried or demanding for the rest of your life. Or your choice can be to know that nothing in life happens by chance. You can choose deliberately to search for grace and peace.

And you also learn that miracles don’t always happen the following day or the moment you ask for them; you also learn that a miracle can be as small or huge as the flickering of movement in your child’s left thumb – with which he begins to write a book. A miracle can also take the form of a swallowing movement or a drawing in of breath without a ventilator – and you learn also that your choice of words in prayer need not be dramatic and highsounding. Sometimes the word please is enough.

I learned that not one of the clichés people are so quick to use holds water in the light of God’s grace, because He doesn’t always allow things to happen to punish people, but sometimes to direct them in a different way. And then, despite weaknesses, He gives them eagles’ wings to rise up far above the negatives.

With time, my choices became easier again, because I was given the Grace to know that, when you set God as your first choice, all other choices are easier. Then the other things work out by themselves.

Therefore my story doesn’t end here; my story has only just begun!