We are a ministry rooted in the reformed faith that offers resources on grief, autism, alcoholism, terminal illness and life crises, as well as hope and help for daily life.

As told by Chuck and Sharon Betters.

As we prepared to write a book about faith, one based on Hebrews 11, we asked our close friend Margie if we could share in this book some of her own difficult life experiences. We mentioned this woman and her young son, Eric, in our first chapter. Eric, Margie's oldest child, never fully recovered from the effects of a rare coma he experienced when he was almost four years old. He is now brain damaged and is no longer the lively and active little boy he used to be. For Margie, as for so many others in this book, walking in faith will never be an easy thing. Every day for her and her husband, Randy, is a struggle.

Margie, after reading through our first chapter, wrote to us:
As I read through the chapter, tears rolled silently and uncontrollably down my face. Somehow, when I saw it there in black and white, as I read the paragraph about my own initial reaction to Eric's condition, it all seemed so immature, as though I just could not trust my God and my Lord. Yet I do know He loves my family, our sweet Eric, and me more than I can even imagine. There are times when I want other people to see that same raw grief, especially those who are undergoing similar trials, so they and I will both know that we are not alone in our sorrows. But seeing my doubts there in print still makes me feel vulnerable. Maybe that is why so many people do not want to share such painful moments. It is certainly easier to share the times of victory. Can I really allow myself to be that vulnerable in order, perhaps, to help someone else?

I do miss my happy little son. That little boy whose joyful laughter used to light up our days and our hearts is gone. The boy left behind sits day after day in his wheelchair and stares out at life with empty eyes. But he still possesses our hearts. Sometimes Randy and I see the peace of Jesus in his sleeping face and his beauty overwhelms us.

For Eric's sixth birthday, I am having the Thomas the Tank Engine party that I had planned for his fourth birthday. We don't know what Eric feels or thinks except that lately he has started smiling a little. We are praying for Eric's complete healing. Medically, we realize that such a hope may not be realistic, but our God is all-powerful and merciful, so we continue to pray for this, the deepest desire of our hearts. We also pray that we will learn to be able to say, no matter what, "It is well, it is well with my soul."

We are taking seriously your counsel: "When you are going through a trial and the way is hard, go back to what you know." By faith, we are learning how to live out what we believe – that God's promises are true, that God is good, that we can trust Him and that He loves us beyond anything we can comprehend. We know He will never leave us nor forsake us, that we are His children, and that He knows Eric by name. Although we may not know what Eric thinking and feeling, God does, and He is accomplishing His eternal purposes even in this.

One day God will wipe away my tears, and Eric will be whole and healthy for all of eternity. I am trusting God to keep His promise: "To appoint until them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planing of the Lord, that he might be glorified" (Isaiah 61:3 KJV).

How grateful we are for those who have allowed this tragedy in our lives to become a part of their lives as well, as they share this burden with us. Every act of kindness has reminded us to find strength in our god. On a particularly difficult night at Mission Hospital during the first few days of Eric's three-month stay there, I left his side to take a short break. The soft light of the waiting room framed a few of the women from our church as they prayed there. What a precious reminder that Randy and I were not alone.

You told us that God's grace is not an anesthetic. It helps to remember that just because we feel excruciating pain right now does not mean that God isn't here with us. We are learning that we don't have to find "joy" in a trial by itself, but that God does ask and encourage us to find joy in Him, despite that trial. And I am convinced that for joy and sorrow to occupy the same space at the same time is a miracle only God can perform.

Randy and I have actually learned to laugh again and enjoy the blessings God sends our way – one of the most special being our three-year-old daughter, Emily. We are finding His purpose and are learning to give to others the comfort He has given to us (2 Corinthians 1:4). Every time we start to "drown," thinking about all the things we had hoped for and wanted for ourselves and for our Eric, we ask God to give us the grace to stay focused on the eternal. I keep repeating to myself the chorus, "Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in His wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace." How we long to be in heaven with Jesus! How we long to see our son, restored and well, standing there with us.

By faith, we are trusting that the pathway God has placed us on will one day lead us Home.

Excerpted from Treasures of Faith, Living Boldly in View of God's Promises, pages 267-270.