All seems eerily quiet in room 14 of the intensive care unit (ICU), except for the metronomic beeping of the ventilator that is helping my father breathe. Our family’s three-year journey through the valley of the shadow of cancer is nearing its end.

I find myself wrestling with God. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end. Doesn’t the Bible ask us to pray for God to raise up workers for the harvest? Dad spent his entire life as a pastor, sacrificing to travel around the world with the gospel. Why haven’t You answered our prayers, God?

Dad’s unconscious body, still young looking at 61 years, is finally collapsing under the weight of this hated disease. As the doctor prepares to remove the life-sustaining breathing tube, I allow my mind to wander back to another day of great consequence for our family just a decade before.

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