So, what do you want to do?…
These seven words left me paralyzed on the morning of March 29, 2021.
There I was, standing in the critical care unit, 15th floor, room 406 when my body fell numb once those seven words greeted me. This was day 7, the maximum amount of days that my sibling had verbally consented to be held on life support prior to placement. If they weren’t showing positive signs of progression, they asked to be removed. Part of me was angry, knowing that the possibility of a deadly outcome was higher than the chances of living. The other part was gently relieved knowing that the pains of life wouldn’t have their way with my sibling anymore. But hearing those words, no matter how much time I had to weigh the pros and cons, didn’t prepare me for what was to come.
Suddenly, this life felt so short. I felt robbed… cheated. I had practiced every single day how I’d greet my sibling once their eyes flung back open with full consciousness. I even imagined how gentle I’d have to be when I’d reach over the bed railing to give them the biggest ‘welcome back’ embrace. Each time I practiced & imagined, I felt a very faint whisper to my Spirit that said that this wasn’t God’s will or intent. But I remained hopeful that God would use the agony I was privately experiencing to bring hope and comfort to hundreds and thousands of people through this season. Because no matter what happened, there was always this calm layer of peace that quieted the ravaging war of worry that once lived in my mind. His peace told me that many would come to believe, even if I had to suffer in the meantime.
So while I suffered… I prayed.
“Let Jehan rise so that others can come to know you. Heal Jehan. Pick Jehan up. Give Jehan restored health. Not for my own selfishness, but for your Kingdom. Let people believe in you after this. Let people know you because of this. Let people love you and have their lives transformed. Help me to believe in a miracle. I need to believe in a miracle. I need to see a miracle.” It was a recycled prayer that I took to God every night, desperately hoping that my sibling’s feet would hit the ground running again one day so that they would be able to say with their own mouth that God did, in fact, perform a miracle in room 406.
While a physical miracle didn’t happen, a spiritual one did.
I stood in the room watching my sibling rely on heavy dosages of medicine and machines as their nurse repeated her question, breaking me from my trance of disbelief, “So what do you want to do?” I shook my head, obviously confused about the context. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Oh, I said that your sibling had said that they wanted to be removed from the support after 7 days, and the doctors wanted to know what decision you all had made in following those wishes.”
It was all so quick. So sudden. So unexpected. But just slow enough for God to restore my own faith and trust His timing & His goodness.
When I took my sibling to the doctor for allergy medication back in February, there was no cause for concern that the visit would turn into a 6-week stay that would result in a return to an eternal home.
“Let me know when you get released, I’ll come to pick you up,” I remember saying it so confidently but my heart didn’t fully believe it. I tucked their keys in my purse and sat in the roundabout watching them make their way through the check-in process, soaking in every single step that would turn out to be the last visual I’d have of them in motion. I can recall telling myself, “You better take all of this in right now and remember everything that you can.” Somehow, my soul knew, and that inkling was God’s way of prepping me for the weeks to come.
So here’s what I know:
Miracles happened over those weeks where hope felt lost. My sibling lived and left this earth with Jesus as their Lord and Savior. I remember the moment my mom called & told me they had accepted Christ, it felt like a burden had been lifted off of my shoulders. While tears raced down my cheeks I fell to the floor in full praise, awe, and gratitude at the silent work God had been doing in their life over the years. Suddenly, those last few hospital visitations didn’t worry me. I would hold their hand and sometimes smile through the heartache knowing that Jesus had won. It was okay for me to let go of my own desire to see a physical life restored and I began to celebrate whatever goodness was going to come of this loss.
My prayers in those weeks were that many would come to know Jesus through the life of my sibling and God was quick to answer. I received an outpouring of condolences but just a few of those messages stood out that gave me the confirmation that I needed to know that my ask of ‘many coming to know Jesus’ didn’t fall on deaf ears.
A few of my social media friends shared with me that they opened their bibles for the first time in years after seeing the update of my lost loved ones over Easter weekend. For clarity, the morning before we had to pull the plug on my sibling, my aunt, who was more so a second mother to me, passed away. Texts came in from those who did not identify as Christians, letting me know that they prayed to a God that they didn’t believe in - for the very first time in their life. Hope was restored when some others told me of how they found strength in my willingness to still see God as good, even though my world crumbling. And to that I say, God is good.
Adversity is one of life's promises and so is death. To me, that’s comforting because I know it’s coming and I have time to prepare. So with that time, I have to ask myself, “What do you choose to do? Do you choose to give in and let your circumstances lead you down a dark path just because things get a little hard? Or do you cling to the promises of Jesus, His strength, His hope, His peace and choose to keep steady with sharing the good news of Jesus?”
You’re on borrowed time and so am I… You don’t have to live your life in shame, guilt, embarrassment, anger, or sadness. You get to live freely, fully, and actually enjoy this world and this life. But just know that whatever choices you make… suffering will still be promised. The only difference is suffering in His love or suffering without. So with that, I have to ask… what do you want to do?