The week before Christmas in 2006, on the same day I lost my job, doctors gave my wife six months to live. I had to be the one to break the news to her.
I sat in her recovery room following a lung biopsy surgery, waited for her to be awake and aware, and told her the doctors discovered she had an aggressive form of cancer that had spread to her lungs. There was nothing they could do. Merry Christmas.
That night, in the hospital, though my wife insisted she was fine, we had the talks you have only when you do not want to have them. We had a 1-year-old. Where would I move? Should I get remarried? How would I raise our daughter without her mom?
I remember my wife telling me she thought I was a catapult, throwing good ideas and people into the arena and I should find a way to keep doing that. I remember telling her I did not want to lose her.
Within 24 hours, the doctor came to check on us and said the hospital was no longer sure about their diagnosis and would be sending my wife’s biopsy to the Mayo Clinic. It turned out my wife had a rare but benign condition. Within a day, a company stepped in to buy my company and I kept my job. Suddenly, a somber Christmas turned bright.
Providentially, 10 years after that misdiagnosis, the Mayo Clinic called my wife and told her they suspected she had a rare, genetic form of lung cancer, as people with her condition often develop it. Sure enough, she has Stage 4 of a genetic lung cancer.
There is no cure, but a pill that amounts to a miracle drug has, for eight years, kept her tumors from growing. The pill, called Tagrisso, is supposed to last two years. Had my wife not been misdiagnosed the week before Christmas all those years ago, her lung cancer would have proceeded until no treatment would have worked.
That Christmas, in hindsight, was a blessing.
I have had to look my wife in the eyes and tell her she was going to die. I do not wish that on anyone. I have had to ponder death, more than once. I often get asked how I could believe in a God who would let my wife have cancer, or give it to her. I reply to each person who asks by reminding them of the manger.
Four thousand years ago, the God of all creation made a covenant with a man named Abraham. As Abraham was about to ratify the deal by walking between butchered animals—a sign that Abraham would die if he broke his part of the deal—God instead walked for Abraham. God showed Abraham that if Abraham, not God, broke his part of the covenant, God himself would sacrifice himself.
Two thousand years after that and two thousand years ago, after much sin, betrayal, and brokenness, God came down at Christmas. The second person of the Trinity arrived in a food trough in a cave, the son of a virgin.
Jesus lived a perfect, blameless life and died a criminal’s death. But he conquered death so that God could keep his covenant with Abraham and restore our connection to him. I do not know why God chose to have us dwell in the sins and misery of this world with disease, a side effect of rampant sin, spreading even to my wife.
But I know God did not exempt himself from the world. He came and suffered and died, and then conquered death so that though we all suffer and die, we too might have eternal life.
That is the meaning of Christmas. It is the meaning of the manger. It gives meaning to life.
This Christmas season, we may be lonely, depressed, ill, suffering, or dying, but there is a living God we can all rely on who knows our suffering and wants a relationship with us. It is the best gift—a perfect gift. We ask Jesus into our lives and he takes care of the rest so that we can rest.
Merry Christmas.
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