Greg, with mottled skin enlarged by edema, lay pale and listless. He fidgeted restlessly, unable to sleep. Maybe he knew sub-consciously that if he slept, he might not see us again in this life. In the background, the gurgling sounds of humidified oxygen droned with his uneven breaths. I refused to look away for fear of anything happening beyond my control.

Only the basic necessities filled our sterile, concrete intensive care room: oxygen, suction tubing and a stalwart intravenous pole that, no doubt, had witnessed many deaths. I lay rigid with anxiety on a hard bench in the corner of what felt like a prison cell, watching blood infuse into my husband’s body. My mind reminisced as each drop encapsulated a memory of our relationship.

We had courted, graduated from seminary and married. Then, we soon conceived, traveled around Australia (my homeland), raising support, and then delivered our baby son, Micah, within our first year of marriage. As I began language studies in Costa Rica, Greg became ill. Within two weeks, he was diagnosed with acute Myeloid Leukemia, pneumonia, cardiac and renal failure. My groom lay dying in a foreign country, with only his bride to witness his entrance into God’s presence.

In spite of my background as a registered nurse and midwife, I often felt helpless. I wanted to do something to keep Greg alive. I rubbed his back and legs, maneuvered bedpans and constantly adjusted his body, attempting to find a position where he felt more comfortable. Oxygen depletion caused relentless agitation.

During his cancer treatments: Greg Carlson (left),
twin brother Jeff (center), and nephew Rusty (right)

The hours labored on, and Greg’s body refused to give in. My restless mind tried to find ways to escape what felt like a time capsule of an unsophisticated era. The longer we stayed in Costa Rica, the less chance he would have. Was I in denial that no matter what country his hospital bed was in, nothing could stop him from dying? The truth was, there was no hope outside of God. If we moved him, he would not survive the journey.

Would God do the unbelievable? I knew He could, but sometimes He doesn’t. My mind drifted to the Scripture when God provided an alternate sacrifice when Abraham obediently offered his only son Isaac on the altar. I realized that God does not always provide the ram. Could I trust God to offer a sacrifice other than my beloved? Would Greg’s untimely death be the end of our missionary career, aborted prematurely even before plans could run their full gestation?

The answer to that question wasn’t answered right away. After three days and nights in the tomb, hovering between life and death, our family was air lifted to M. D. Andersen Cancer Center in Houston, Texas. For the next year and a half, Greg received intensive chemotherapy and aggressive medical interventions to bring his body into a cancer-free state. After the doctor had done everything he could to care for Greg, he could not guarantee that the cancer would not relapse. Were we to wait around for cancer to return and put our plans for missionary service on hold?

Life can’t be put on hold, waiting for something that may not happen. God led us back to language school in Costa Rica, gifted us with three more children and sustained us through ten years of ministry in Mexico, Colombia and Uruguay. Now, we are serving OMS International in the world headquarters in the U.S. We now understand a little more. We understand that God’s purposes involve as much with our personal growth and devotion to Him as to the degree of service we offer Him. Ultimately, God is not as interested in our ministry goals as He is our heart devotion.