AP

I Want Out

Sometimes, when following the LORD, we feel crushed in spirit and want release. I share my story with tears, hoping that you will be inspired to persevere and trust our good God.

I knelt by our bed to spill out my disillusionment. Only God would hear since the children were playing outside, and my husband was treating patients in the clinic. I didn’t want to stress the family before time. 

“Please Lord, release me from missionary life in Usta Muhammad. I know Ian feels called here, but I want out. I want to live with our children and not send them to boarding school again. The only way we can minister in this undeveloped region and fulfill the children’s needs is to send them away. I don’t want that. I want out.”

Just five years before, this starry-eyed couple left Australia with their five young children, enthusiastically embracing the challenges of bringing the gospel to the unreached people of Pakistan. During these years we had scaled hurdles of sickness, multiple moves, and learning languages. God had wonderfully opened the doors to live amongst Muslims and set up a TB clinic in this restricted area of Balochistan. Living simply, we accepted the harsh climate, intense heat, and village culture. Alongside our co-workers, a family from Perth, we tackled the never-ending difficulties of setting up a credible medical ministry where we could also share Jesus. However, in that place, our children could not get a good education nor the socialization they needed.

After checking out Murree Christian School (MCS), we did what we said we’d never do: sent them into boarding. Located 1000 kilometres away in the Himalayan foothills, they had the benefit of cooler weather, dedicated staff, friendships, and an excellent Christian education. For the last three years the older children lived there happily, doing well in boarding, and enjoying most things. We had embraced Jesus’ words ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me’ (Matthew 16:24).  In so doing, God had provided in a way we would not have chosen. But the last school term had been tough, and my mother’s heart ached to protect the children.

I reasoned, If Ian wants to stay—fine. I know he can’t cope without me. That’s his problem. I know God wants husband and wife to stick together and I promised on our wedding day to love, honour, and cherish him. I am not asking for a life of luxury, but just not to send the children into boarding. I want to return to Australia, live a ‘normal’ life, and send the children to school each day from home.I didn’t know what God would do with my “I want out” prayer but left it with Him to answer in His own time and way.

I pasted a smile on my lips and carried on running a happy household. The courtyard rocked with chatter and laughter from our five children playing with our co-workers’ four children: shooting a basketball, riding bikes, and playing with their pets. A week later I had a great break taking the five older children interstate to ‘Children’s Kamp’. After returning Ian travelled interstate for the school board meeting. Two weeks later we had time to chat.

After lunch during family siesta, Ian drew the curtain that separated our room from the living area. Settling our heads on the pillows he whispered, “You have a small breast lump. I noticed it several weeks ago. Then you went to ‘Kid’s Kamp’, and I left for the board meeting. A very definite lump is still present.”

My throat tightened. “Cancer? I’m only 36 and need to raise five children.”

Ian said, “Four things about the lump bother me: its position, asymmetry, painlessness and not changing size with your cycle. It must be investigated.” He discussed options, “The hospital here is too basic, and staffed by people less qualified than me.”

I said, “In Australia, I could see a specialist tomorrow, get a diagnosis and start treatment straight away.”

So began a difficult journey. We drove to the mission hospital two hours away hoping the doctor could say it was benign. After examination she said, “You need further tests. I can’t help you here.” We could not return to Australia because of visa problems, money, visitors, children, and time constraints. The best option lay in Karachi, with a new, state of the art, hospital, although 500km away. After many frustrations in phone communication, Ian finally got the right department with the right specialist and booked their earliest date, in six weeks. That coincided with the final week of school holidays.

We prayed for healing and followed principles set out in the Bible. Our co-workers and Ian anointed me with oil and prayed in faith. Nothing changed. We set aside times to fast and pray. Nothing changed. One afternoon, I flopped onto a bed and tearfully wrote to God: “I love You. I know You can work all things together for good to those who love You and are called according to Your purpose. I don’t want to die, leave Ian, the children, and the work. Please heal me. Lord, increase my faith, particularly now when I can’t understand.”

But the lump remained.

The days sped by as I tried to have quality time with the children, entertain visitors, visit locals, prepare for an annual conference, and get the children’ gear ready for boarding. At night I’d stare into the darkness, anxious about a spreading malignancy. To make matters worse, we had to sack our maid for stealing, leaving us with a lot more housework. Then an angry mob of Muslim men threatened to burn the clinic because of the Christian literature.

I coped, simply because if I didn’t, the children wouldn’t, and neither would Ian. So, each day I worked through the jobs, all the while crying inside, I want out.

Six weeks later, the day arrived to fly to Karachi. I travelled alone so Ian and our co-workers could keep the clinic going, look after nine children, and entertain guests. At the rural airport Ian gave me specific advice, as both doctor and husband, “You might need to insist on getting seen and even make yourself obnoxious but push forward to the end. You have only four days. Don’t let them operate without time for us to think and pray.”

The next days passed like a bad dream: a nauseous trip on a Fokker, making my way around in a Muslim society without a male escort, and a specialist who reluctantly saw me, showing disdain for me as a Christian westerner. But I focussed on another objective: to fast from all food for three days and drink only water to cry out to God. I brought two books to read, the Bible and a novel on spiritual warfare.

The days blurred together, going in and out of departments, except for the time the specialist asked me to remove my clothes for examination. She then brought in two male students. I felt uncomfortable, knowing that they would absolutely never do this with their own Muslim women. She said, “Put your hands up in the air”. I followed her directive and immediately realized her intention when I saw their smirks. She said, “I don’t ask Pakistani women to do this.” Feeling so vulnerable, I longed for a doctor who would not misuse her position.

During intervals in waiting rooms, I read, meditated, and wiped the tears away. How I needed this time to pour out my emotions to God, to find Him and know He was still good and righteous.

On the third morning, I suddenly became aware of my deep anger, stewing within. I easily recognized it against Ian but was surprised to realize it was also against God – bitterness for giving us a hard life, and against Ian for willingly following Him. I had a long list of things I hated: continuous high temperatures, dust, loneliness, premature separation from family, poor housing, etc. Despite my quoting verses on contentment, I felt entitled to a better life. Now, I sensed the presence of God’s Spirit, tilting my eyes to Jesus, who had suffered far more than I ever could, died for my sin, and come back to life. Jesus was asking me to willingly serve and sacrifice my small dreams for His glory. In His faithfulness, He was calling me back to faithfulness to Him, and Ian, as well as the children. He wanted me to trust Him through the hardships. He would keep us and help us overcome. All that bitterness surfaced and dripped away in tears, falling onto the Bible before me, opened at Psalm 118:

I will not die but live,
    and will proclaim what the Lord has done.
The Lord has chastened me severely,
    but he has not given me over to death.

The words penetrated my broken soul. God took that resentment and washed me clean. The tears stopped flowing. Somehow, I knew I’d been healed. But the medical process had to be completed.

The specialist shoved some papers before me. “You must have a biopsy. Sign these. We will give you an anaesthetic and operate. If the lump is malignant, we will do a mastectomy.” Ian’s warning rang in my ears. I signed no papers but did book for a later date. Bone weary, I ate a few bites that night and wrote in my diary:

“Lord, You’ve been with me all day. You helped me be strong and answered my prayers. I got all my tests done and the results in hand. I’m so glad You have Your hand on my life. I’m so grateful for the many blessings You generously give me – peace in my heart, a husband beyond compare, my lovely children, a home with all I need and want. Grant that I be faithful to you and find joy in serving You! Yours, Dorcas”

Weak and relieved, I boarded the small plane for home. What sweet comfort to hug and be hugged by Ian and the children. Only three precious days remained of the children’s winter break. Within that time the lump disappeared. Whether benign or malignant, I knew I’d been healed. I never went for surgery.

I did ask the Lord to give me something that would lift my spirit and give me joy in the hardships. He graciously did, and at the end of that same year, I held him in my arms – our youngest child, who became, as God says children are, a blessing – to us and others.

Postscript: It’s been 34 years now. At times I’ve had flashbacks, and cry with the memories of that winter break, but it’s been redeemed. I’ve tried to analyse what happened and recall verses that warned me:

“In your anger do not sin”: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold. (Ephesians 4:26,27).

See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no “root of bitterness” springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled (Hebrews 12:15).

All six children finished their education in Murree Christian School and were greatly blessed there, as well as challenged. But the overwhelming lesson that stays with me is how dangerous anger and bitterness are, and what a wonderful source of help we have in the risen Lord Jesus.

– Dorcas Denness