A Future With Hope

            “For surely I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord, “…to give you a future with hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11 NRSV)

It could have been a New Testament church that gathered early Sunday morning while lizards skittered up walls, out of the shadow of palm trees into sunlight. Some people arrived silently, alone, others came in pairs, chatting as they walked. Families bounded onto the scene with bustle and noise. Everyone was greeted warmly and settled into the main room of the house to wait for others to arrive.

The home in which these believers gathered was not a Middle Eastern clay building with a flat roof.  It was a frame building with a galvanized roof that had a cistern on top for collecting rain water. The women were like beautiful flowers in their brightly coloured dresses, the men wore dress pants and open-necked shirts. It was twentieth century Trinidad.

Motilal, whose home this was, had come a long way. Raised in a nominally Hindu family, he spent his life working a little, visiting the rum shop and partying a lot with his friends. Then he became ill. Some Christians came to pray over him in the hospital room where he hovered close to death. He recovered from his illness and embraced the God who had given him back his life.

Good news is not hidden for long, especially in a country where families are both close and far-reaching, and where gossip on the shady side of a bougainvillea hedge is a welcome respite on hot days. Word spread about Motilal’s healing and his conversion. People stopped by to have a cup of ginger tea and ask questions.

Motilal and his wife attended Bible College, then returned to their village where they began a weekly Bible study and prayer group that grew to become a church. They worshiped earnestly and fervently. When they heard of a need, such as Motilal’s brother, Heeraman, who had a rare form of cancer, they prayed for his physical and spiritual health.

Heeraman had emigrated to Toronto with his wife, Ivy, in the mid-eighties. During the winter of 1994 he began having headaches on the left side of his head. As time went on, they came more often and were more painful. But Heeraman worked 6 days a week. His doctor’s appointment had to wait until he had a Saturday off.

The doctor ordered X rays but didn’t know what to make of them. The Ear, Nose and Throat specialist ordered more X rays and a CAT scan. He concluded that the joint holding the upper part of Heeraman’s jaw was missing and would have to be reconstructed using bone from a finger or foot.

The surgeon, expecting a routine operation, was shocked when he unexpectedly cut into a tumour. It fragmented under his knife, like dandelion seeds in a wind, spreading wildly and widely. He did his best to clean up the contaminated area, then closed the incision and referred Heeraman to a teaching surgeon at Princess Margaret Hospital in Toronto.

This doctor was tall. His bulk seemed to fill the room. The six interns who trailed him hovered along the far wall.

He was blunt.

“What you have is cancer. You have 6 months to live.”

He paused for a moment, then added, “But don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”

Heeraman stopped listening then, but Ivy heard the rest of what was said. Heeraman was only the 21^st person ever to be diagnosed with this form of cancer and the other 20 people were dead. There were no established protocols for treatment. The doctors asked for permission to use his body for research after his death.

Heeraman’s radiation schedule was grueling. At first he tried to work through the week, before and after his treatments. But after two weeks all he could manage was the subway trip into the city from his Scarborough home. The trip back was the hardest. He had a burning sensation, felt sick, and was weary beyond anything he had ever known or imagined. Sometimes he slept through his stop, woke at the end of the line and had to make the trip back.

His daughter, Renita, who was 12 then, says “I remember him coming home tired, drained and depressed. It was a different side of my dad.”

Meanwhile, in Trinidad, Motilal, his wife and his uncle, who had also come to know Jesus, were praying and fasting for him. Ivy’s family also prayed.

Ivy’s sister, Vilma, proposed that Heeraman return to Trinidad for a visit. At first he was reluctant, but then agreed to go. He also agreed to see Vilma’s pastor, Rev. Bailey, but he did not put much stock in stories of miracles associated with this man. Heeraman came from a Hindu family, although he occasionally attended Christian services with Ivy and their daughters.

Trinidad is the most southern of the Caribbean islands, a green jewel in a turquoise sea. But Heeraman had no eye for its beauty. The journey was exhausting. He needed assistance to get off the plane. The next day he required support to enter Rev. Bailey’s office.

But several hours later he walked out without assistance.

“I felt so good,” he recalls, “As if the sickness was gone. God did something,”

After a moment’s thought, he adds, “I would not say, necessarily, that I was healed at that time. But I felt different. Full of energy.”

Whether at that time or later, Heeraman was healed. All tests for cancer have come back negative in the 18 years since his diagnosis and treatment.

Not only was Heeraman’s physical life restored, his spiritual life began. He started to read and meditate on Scripture. He became a believer in mind, heart and life-style.

The church that Ivy and the girls attended in Scarborough became the spiritual home where he found ways to show his love for Jesus to the family of God. He came early Sunday morning to set up for coffee, then stayed for the washing up. He stopped on his way home from work to cut the lawn. He learned how to operate the sound board.

God’s work in Heeraman’s family continued.

On Good Friday, 2000, six years after her father’s illness, Renita met her future husband, David, a young man whose mother was Hindu and father was Christian. He “randomly” decided to attend the service at Renita’s church that night.

Seven years later, David’s parents and his sister, Alicia, attended the Good Friday service there. Alicia recalls that although she had been in church before “[something] changed that night. I felt a difference inside that I cannot fully explain.”

Now, 6 years later, busy in her career as a Chiropodist, Alicia says, “My walk with Jesus is what keeps me moving… I pray that others can feel God’s spirit through me and in every encounter that I have… My future is completely based on Jesus and what he has planned for me.”

            “For surely I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord, “…to give you a future with hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11 NRSV)

It could have been a New Testament church that gathered early Sunday morning while lizards skittered up walls, out of the shadow of palm trees into sunlight. Some people arrived silently, alone, others came in pairs, chatting as they walked. Families bounded onto the scene with bustle and noise. Everyone was greeted warmly and settled into the main room of the house to wait for others to arrive.

The home in which these believers gathered was not a Middle Eastern clay building with a flat roof.  It was a frame building with a galvanized roof that had a cistern on top for collecting rain water. The women were like beautiful flowers in their brightly coloured dresses, the men wore dress pants and open-necked shirts. It was twentieth century Trinidad.

Motilal, whose home this was, had come a long way. Raised in a nominally Hindu family, he spent his life working a little, visiting the rum shop and partying a lot with his friends. Then he became ill. Some Christians came to pray over him in the hospital room where he hovered close to death. He recovered from his illness and embraced the God who had given him back his life.

Good news is not hidden for long, especially in a country where families are both close and far-reaching, and where gossip on the shady side of a bougainvillea hedge is a welcome respite on hot days. Word spread about Motilal’s healing and his conversion. People stopped by to have a cup of ginger tea and ask questions.

Motilal and his wife attended Bible College, then returned to their village where they began a weekly Bible study and prayer group that grew to become a church. They worshiped earnestly and fervently. When they heard of a need, such as Motilal’s brother, Heeraman, who had a rare form of cancer, they prayed for his physical and spiritual health.

Heeraman had emigrated to Toronto with his wife, Ivy, in the mid-eighties. During the winter of 1994 he began having headaches on the left side of his head. As time went on, they came more often and were more painful. But Heeraman worked 6 days a week. His doctor’s appointment had to wait until he had a Saturday off.

The doctor ordered X rays but didn’t know what to make of them. The Ear, Nose and Throat specialist ordered more X rays and a CAT scan. He concluded that the joint holding the upper part of Heeraman’s jaw was missing and would have to be reconstructed using bone from a finger or foot.

The surgeon, expecting a routine operation, was shocked when he unexpectedly cut into a tumour. It fragmented under his knife, like dandelion seeds in a wind, spreading wildly and widely. He did his best to clean up the contaminated area, then closed the incision and referred Heeraman to a teaching surgeon at Princess Margaret Hospital in Toronto.

This doctor was tall. His bulk seemed to fill the room. The six interns who trailed him hovered along the far wall.

He was blunt.

“What you have is cancer. You have 6 months to live.”

He paused for a moment, then added, “But don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”

Heeraman stopped listening then, but Ivy heard the rest of what was said. Heeraman was only the 21^st person ever to be diagnosed with this form of cancer and the other 20 people were dead. There were no established protocols for treatment. The doctors asked for permission to use his body for research after his death.

Heeraman’s radiation schedule was grueling. At first he tried to work through the week, before and after his treatments. But after two weeks all he could manage was the subway trip into the city from his Scarborough home. The trip back was the hardest. He had a burning sensation, felt sick, and was weary beyond anything he had ever known or imagined. Sometimes he slept through his stop, woke at the end of the line and had to make the trip back.

His daughter, Renita, who was 12 then, says “I remember him coming home tired, drained and depressed. It was a different side of my dad.”

Meanwhile, in Trinidad, Motilal, his wife and his uncle, who had also come to know Jesus, were praying and fasting for him. Ivy’s family also prayed.

Ivy’s sister, Vilma, proposed that Heeraman return to Trinidad for a visit. At first he was reluctant, but then agreed to go. He also agreed to see Vilma’s pastor, Rev. Bailey, but he did not put much stock in stories of miracles associated with this man. Heeraman came from a Hindu family, although he occasionally attended Christian services with Ivy and their daughters.

Trinidad is the most southern of the Caribbean islands, a green jewel in a turquoise sea. But Heeraman had no eye for its beauty. The journey was exhausting. He needed assistance to get off the plane. The next day he required support to enter Rev. Bailey’s office.

But several hours later he walked out without assistance.

“I felt so good,” he recalls, “As if the sickness was gone. God did something,”

After a moment’s thought, he adds, “I would not say, necessarily, that I was healed at that time. But I felt different. Full of energy.”

Whether at that time or later, Heeraman was healed. All tests for cancer have come back negative in the 18 years since his diagnosis and treatment.

Not only was Heeraman’s physical life restored, his spiritual life began. He started to read and meditate on Scripture. He became a believer in mind, heart and life-style.

The church that Ivy and the girls attended in Scarborough became the spiritual home where he found ways to show his love for Jesus to the family of God. He came early Sunday morning to set up for coffee, then stayed for the washing up. He stopped on his way home from work to cut the lawn. He learned how to operate the sound board.

God’s work in Heeraman’s family continued.

On Good Friday, 2000, six years after her father’s illness, Renita met her future husband, David, a young man whose mother was Hindu and father was Christian. He “randomly” decided to attend the service at Renita’s church that night.

Seven years later, David’s parents and his sister, Alicia, attended the Good Friday service there. Alicia recalls that although she had been in church before “[something] changed that night. I felt a difference inside that I cannot fully explain.”

Now, 6 years later, busy in her career as a Chiropodist, Alicia says, “My walk with Jesus is what keeps me moving… I pray that others can feel God’s spirit through me and in every encounter that I have… My future is completely based on Jesus and what he has planned for me.”

 

A Future with Hope first appeared in Testimony magazine, July/August 2013, Vol. 94, No. 6