A dear friend of mine has a sister with ALS otherwise known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. ALS is a progressive and terminal condition that destroys the nerve cells in the brain adversely affecting the ability to walk, speak, swallow and to breathe.
My friend’s brother-in-law sent her this unedited text describing in his own words their situation.
As you read his text, you will soon see that he would give anything to trade places with his beloved wife in order to give her a reprieve from her suffering, even if it were for just a short period of time.
Here is his text:
“I appreciate everyone who’s reached out asking how my wife and I are holding up, how she’s taking it all. Your kindness means the world, even if I haven’t always found the words to respond. The truth is, I’ve started a hundred replies, pouring out the raw details of our days – the endless routines that have replaced what we once called life, the new hurdles that blindsides us every morning, the scramble for equipment we don’t have or training we desperately need. We’re flying blind through this nightmare, both of us, grasping at whatever we can to make it through another hour. But those drafts? I delete them every time because no matter how many words I string together, they fall painfully short of capturing what ALS is doing to us. Her body is betraying her inch by inch, turning into a concrete prison while her brilliant mind screams from inside, fully aware, fully alive. I watch her cry every day over some fresh loss – a hand that won’t grip, a step she can’t take, a breath that comes harder than the last. She’s innocent in all this, sentenced to watch her world shrink without a single crime committed. And me? As her caregiver, there is no pause button, no sick days. Back seizing up? Fever raging? Doesn’t matter – I’m there, lifting, adjusting, holding her through the sobs, because the alternative isn’t an option. We’re not “holding up,” we are surviving in fragments, piecing together moments amid the chaos. ALS doesn’t just steal from the one it strikes; it rips through the caregiver, the family, leaving echoes of grief that words can’t touch. If I’ve gone silent when you’ve asked, it’s not for lack of gratitude – it’s because this pain defies description. But know that your thoughts keep us from feeling utterly alone in the fight.”
There is no trading places with husband and his suffering wife or parent with their suffering child. That is the way it is for all humanity – in more ways than one. We are also on a spiritual collision course. We have an incurable condition called sin. Left to ourselves, we are destined to die without hope.
But “God so loved the world that He sent His only begotten Son that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16). However, if Jesus left His throne of glory for a dark and chaotic world only to observe mankind, no one would benefit. But God the Father had a purpose according to His own perfect will.
John 6:38, 40 says that Jesus came down from heaven to do the will of the Father which is that everyone who believes in Jesus will have everlasting life.
Jesus, Son of God and Son of Man, not only traded His throne for a cross, but He also traded places with humanity when He took our place on the cross. He died for our sins so we might live with Him forever.
Someday all suffering believers will trade places from earthly bodies to heaven with new glorified bodies where there is no more crying and no more pain because these things will vanish forevermore. Do you want to trade places from one having a sin nature to one who is declared righteous? “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved” (Acts 16:31)