By Kate Allt
"... Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified... for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."
~Deuteronomy 31:6
I have never been a particularly religious person. I was raised as a Lutheran, was baptized, confirmed and went to Sunday school and youth group. My family went to church, but all the while, religion was more of a side note than an influencing factor growing up.
"... Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified... for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."
~Deuteronomy 31:6
I have never been a particularly religious person. I was raised as a Lutheran, was baptized, confirmed and went to Sunday school and youth group. My family went to church, but all the while, religion was more of a side note than an influencing factor growing up.
In college, faith took an even further back seat. I was focused on the normal things — classes, grades, friends and socializing. My roommate, Sarah, was a different story. From the start, she was everything a follower of God should be — faithful, selfless, dedicated and kind. She grew up with a strong presence of religion in her life, and she carried her faith with her to college and held firmly to it. I always respected her for that.
Sarah and I never really discussed religion or our respective faiths, even though she joined a campus youth group and I tagged along for a meeting or two — not until something happened that would change both our ideas of faith forever.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010, was an exciting day. It was my half-birthday — something I like to make a big deal of for the pure irony of it not being a big deal. Our housemate got engaged and texted us a picture of her beautiful new ring, and my mom sent us a huge package with Christmas gifts for all our roommates. Sarah and I were sampling the chocolate we'd been sent when her phone rang.
Two days earlier, Sarah's younger sister, Leah, who was eighteen and a freshman at Indiana Wesleyan, had been rushed to the hospital with appendicitis. She had been feeling crummy for months, and despite going to the doctor several times, they had not determined what was wrong with her. The doctors who removed her appendix found several masses on her liver and ran tests on them. Sarah got the call midway through a box of peppermint bark: Stage IV colon cancer.
In an instant, our day changed. Everything happened so fast, but looking back on that night, it seems like slow motion. I had no idea what to do or what to say to Sarah to make things better. There were literally no words. Her family was coming to pick her up, but as we were lying on my bed waiting, we exchanged our very first words on faith.
"Try not to think the worst," I told Sarah. "God always has a plan."
"You know, I've never really talked about God with you," she said.
"I guess we've never had a reason to."
The next few months were a flurry of activity. Leah was taken to the Mayo Clinic to receive chemotherapy and treatment, and the doctors there fell in love with her friendly spirit and unshakeable faith. She was pulled out of school due to all the traveling and treatment, but she never complained. She made visits back to IWU as often as she could manage to see her fellow basketball players — both her teammates and her family. She should have been finishing her first year of college, but instead she was enduring terrible pain and constant medication. Yet, she never said a word.
The faith surrounding Leah and her family was incredible. A group started on Facebook on her behalf grew to thousands of members within days. Strangers prayed for her across the globe, adding to the IWU community, her friends and neighbors in her hometown, and others who had only just heard her story and recognized her incredible spirit.
And I prayed for her every night. I — who hadn't said a prayer in years — prayed every night for Leah to recover, for her family to remain strong, and for God to be there with them every step of the way.
For her part, Sarah juggled finishing her final year of nursing school with making trips home to be with her family. I don't know how she did it.
In August 2011, things took a turn for the worse. The clinical trials in which Leah had been participating weren't having the desired effects. There wasn't much the doctors could do. They gave her two weeks to two months.
Leah and her family kept their amazing faith. They put everything in God's hands, knowing that His will would be done. Throughout her journey, Leah's proverb was Deuteronomy 31:6, "'Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified... for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.'" Even during the hardest, most emotional days, Leah was always strong and always courageous. She accepted God's will with unwavering faith. She knew He would not abandon her.
On Tuesday, August 16, 2011, I had to go to work. I checked my phone and got in the shower. When I got out, I found several missed calls and text messages. Leah had passed away.
As much emotion as I was feeling that day and the days following, I cannot even begin to imagine what Sarah and her family were going through. My heart was breaking for them.
At Leah's funeral, her basketball coach from IWU spoke. He told the large crowd that had gathered to mourn the loss of a beautiful, unselfish, caring nineteen-year-old that when most people asked, "Why — why Leah? Why now?" She asked, "Why not? Why not me? Better this happen to me than someone else."
That amazing example of the person Leah was each and every day stuck with me. Though I was still asking why, I was learning. I learned that faith is a powerful thing, and that it is real. Leah knew that. And she taught me. Through the girl who was an entire foot taller than me, with the most beautiful blue eyes and glowing smile, I learned that faith and love are what life is really about.
And while I miss her each and every day, and I wish I could ease the pain that her family still feels from losing her, the lessons she taught me make everything just a little bit easier.
I know that we all have a six-foot-three angel looking after us, challenging anyone in heaven who will listen (including Jesus) to a game of one-on-one and watching over us with those big, beautiful blue eyes.
Sarah and I never really discussed religion or our respective faiths, even though she joined a campus youth group and I tagged along for a meeting or two — not until something happened that would change both our ideas of faith forever.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010, was an exciting day. It was my half-birthday — something I like to make a big deal of for the pure irony of it not being a big deal. Our housemate got engaged and texted us a picture of her beautiful new ring, and my mom sent us a huge package with Christmas gifts for all our roommates. Sarah and I were sampling the chocolate we'd been sent when her phone rang.
Two days earlier, Sarah's younger sister, Leah, who was eighteen and a freshman at Indiana Wesleyan, had been rushed to the hospital with appendicitis. She had been feeling crummy for months, and despite going to the doctor several times, they had not determined what was wrong with her. The doctors who removed her appendix found several masses on her liver and ran tests on them. Sarah got the call midway through a box of peppermint bark: Stage IV colon cancer.
In an instant, our day changed. Everything happened so fast, but looking back on that night, it seems like slow motion. I had no idea what to do or what to say to Sarah to make things better. There were literally no words. Her family was coming to pick her up, but as we were lying on my bed waiting, we exchanged our very first words on faith.
"Try not to think the worst," I told Sarah. "God always has a plan."
"You know, I've never really talked about God with you," she said.
"I guess we've never had a reason to."
The next few months were a flurry of activity. Leah was taken to the Mayo Clinic to receive chemotherapy and treatment, and the doctors there fell in love with her friendly spirit and unshakeable faith. She was pulled out of school due to all the traveling and treatment, but she never complained. She made visits back to IWU as often as she could manage to see her fellow basketball players — both her teammates and her family. She should have been finishing her first year of college, but instead she was enduring terrible pain and constant medication. Yet, she never said a word.
The faith surrounding Leah and her family was incredible. A group started on Facebook on her behalf grew to thousands of members within days. Strangers prayed for her across the globe, adding to the IWU community, her friends and neighbors in her hometown, and others who had only just heard her story and recognized her incredible spirit.
And I prayed for her every night. I — who hadn't said a prayer in years — prayed every night for Leah to recover, for her family to remain strong, and for God to be there with them every step of the way.
For her part, Sarah juggled finishing her final year of nursing school with making trips home to be with her family. I don't know how she did it.
In August 2011, things took a turn for the worse. The clinical trials in which Leah had been participating weren't having the desired effects. There wasn't much the doctors could do. They gave her two weeks to two months.
Leah and her family kept their amazing faith. They put everything in God's hands, knowing that His will would be done. Throughout her journey, Leah's proverb was Deuteronomy 31:6, "'Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified... for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.'" Even during the hardest, most emotional days, Leah was always strong and always courageous. She accepted God's will with unwavering faith. She knew He would not abandon her.
On Tuesday, August 16, 2011, I had to go to work. I checked my phone and got in the shower. When I got out, I found several missed calls and text messages. Leah had passed away.
As much emotion as I was feeling that day and the days following, I cannot even begin to imagine what Sarah and her family were going through. My heart was breaking for them.
At Leah's funeral, her basketball coach from IWU spoke. He told the large crowd that had gathered to mourn the loss of a beautiful, unselfish, caring nineteen-year-old that when most people asked, "Why — why Leah? Why now?" She asked, "Why not? Why not me? Better this happen to me than someone else."
That amazing example of the person Leah was each and every day stuck with me. Though I was still asking why, I was learning. I learned that faith is a powerful thing, and that it is real. Leah knew that. And she taught me. Through the girl who was an entire foot taller than me, with the most beautiful blue eyes and glowing smile, I learned that faith and love are what life is really about.
And while I miss her each and every day, and I wish I could ease the pain that her family still feels from losing her, the lessons she taught me make everything just a little bit easier.
I know that we all have a six-foot-three angel looking after us, challenging anyone in heaven who will listen (including Jesus) to a game of one-on-one and watching over us with those big, beautiful blue eyes.
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