Susana

Today, even in the mist of the joy and anticipation of planning fun-filled parties for families facing childhood cancer, my heart aches.

Today, even in the midst of my own personal celebration – for today marks exactly 11 months since my last treatment for a rare immune system defect – I hurt deeply.

Because today, at 12:15 PM, 4-year-old Susana Whittaker finished her race. Following a valiant battle with cancer, she was healed in the presence of her Savior – whole, complete, and cancer-free.

Even as Susana is now rejoicing, I groan for her family.

I never met Susana or her family, nor knew them personally. Several months ago one of my good friends who attends church with them sent me a link to their blog. Cody and Maria were serving as missionaries in Haiti with their two daughters, Isabela (6) and Susana (4), when Susana became sick. After an initial diagnosis of malaria, Susana was diagnosed with stage 4 neuroblastoma: one of the deadliest childhood cancers. Her family returned to the States for treatment, and Susana bravely endured harsh frontline therapy.

In January, just before beginning her last phase of treatment, scans showed that Susana’s cancer had returned with a vengeance. After much research and prayer, her family made the decision to stop pursuing medical treatment and to trust God with their little girl, knowing that she would likely go to heaven soon.

And today was her day: Susana’s home-going.

I began following Susana and her family’s journey on their blog shortly after Susana was diagnosed, and I was always amazed at the faith with which her family approached her battle. Through everything, they all held to an unshakeable hope in the character of God. Simply incredible.

In fact, Cody (Susana’s dad) told a story once of his worship experiences with Susana. Their family grew to love the song “Never Let Go” by Matt Redman. For those of you who are unfamiliar, the lyrics are as follows:

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear
And even when I’m caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won’t turn back
I know You are near 

And I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear?
Whom then shall I fear?

Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me 

And I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
A glorious light beyond all compare
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
We’ll live to know You here on the earth 

Yes, I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
Still I will praise You, still I will praise You”

Cody writes about their family’s tradition that grew around this song: “Every time we sing it together in the car, just as the line says, “but until that day comes”, I say out loud, “What are we gonna do?”  And then we all point up to heaven as we sing, ‘Still I will praise You. Still I will praise You Lord.’”

Once Susana was listening to this song in the hospital. Someone snapped the following picture of her as she sang:

"Still I will praise You..

This captures what I have observed from afar the past several months as I’ve watched this family deal with the horror of childhood cancer. Nothing short of unwavering, awe-inspiring faith and adoration for their Savior.

In fact, a few days after that picture was posted, Cody followed it with another blog post:

“A friend of ours sent a picture that I had posted a few days ago (the one of Susana looking up to Jesus and praising Him just as she was about to go in for more procedures) to Matt Redman, the one who wrote the song that we were singing when that picture was taken (“You Never Let Go”).  Anyway, the email and blog post reached him in the UK where he lives, and he sent a personal video message back to Susana thanking her and encouraging her to keep praising Jesus and being a great example to all of us.  Check it out below:” 

This past week, the Whittaker family has been heavy on my heart. From following their site, it was evident that unless God worked a miracle at the last second, Susana’s battle would end in the arms of Jesus. I heard a couple of songs this week that reminded me of their family and caused me to think about Break the Grey and the work that we do. The first was called “Healer” by Hillsong United:

“You hold my every moment
You calm my raging seas
You walk with me through fire
And heal all my disease

I trust in You
I trust in You

I believe You're my Healer
I believe You are all I need
I believe You're my Portion
I believe You're more than enough for me
Jesus You're all I need

Nothing is impossible for You
Nothing is impossible for You
Nothing is impossible for You
You hold my world in Your hands”

I had a very hard time singing this song. It seemed so paradoxical. Here I was, singing it as a survivor – almost one year off treatment! But Susana’s family, who truly believe that God is indeed the Healer, and that He could do the impossible – including healing Susana’s body of all cancer here on this earth at the last second – was losing their child.

You see, growing up, I used to think that healing meant here and now - on this earth. I continued to think this way until probably my junior or senior year in high school, after about a year or so of fighting immune deficiency the first time. I came then to realize that our suffering is meant to ultimately bring glory to our Redeemer, and that healing often refers to that day when we will be made whole and complete in the presence of our Savior. That, my friends, is truly the ultimate healing.

So what I have come to find through my own journey with illness, Break the Grey, and the Whittaker family’s sojourn is this:

My God can do all things. Nothing is impossible for Him. He has all power and all might with which to heal here on this earth – even when conventional medicine says otherwise. He created our inmost beings. Therefore, with a word or a thought, they could be made instantly whole. I believe this whole-heartedly. If He chooses, however, not to do so, He is still good. And even if He calls us to walk in the hardest of places, we are called to stand in that moment and declare, “Yes – this is pain,” and “Yes – this hurts more than words can describe,” and “Yes – I would rather be anyplace but here,” and yet – You are still Good. You are still Glorious. You are still Awesome. You are still Deserving of Praise.

And so there is hope.

Not a wishy-washy, “when we all get to heaven” hope – a here and now hope. A “my God is Mighty to Save. But if He does, or if He does not, what is it to me? I serve the Lord of Hosts, and His glory is my number one concern. Not my safety. Not my comfort. No, not even my life. His name and renown – they are the desire of my heart. May His name be lifted high.” It is that kind of hope.

And that kind of hope can stare down any moment.

And that kind of hope can celebrate.

And that kind of hope can be fully present and alive.

I will close with the second song. I’ve only heard it a few times, but it is quickly becoming one of my favorites. It reminds me so much of the Whittaker family right now, and the faith, grace, and courage with which they are weathering this storm, even in the midst of their intense grief. It is called “Give Me Faith” by Elevation Worship:

“I need You to soften my heart
To break me apart
I need You to open my eyes
To see that You're shaping my life

All I am,
I surrender

Give me faith to trust what You say
That You're good and Your love is great
I'm broken inside, I give You my life

I need You to soften my heart
To break me apart

I need You to pierce through the dark
And cleanse every part of me

I may be weak
But You’re spirit’s strong in me
My flesh may fail
But my God, You never will”

Oh, God…give us faith to trust what You say – that You are good, and that Your love is great. Especially Cody, Maria, and Isabela. We hope in You alone. Amen.

Please continue to pray for Susana’s family as they grieve. Thanks.

Hoping, Believing, and Never Giving up,

Sarah