I Still Believe

by Jeremy Camp

  “Please, God,” I would plead, “heal Melissa.”

  My mom would call almost every day with a Scripture that God had given her to share with us. The verses were filled with encouragement, exhortation, and comfort. They reminded us of God’s goodness during difficult circumstances, and they pointed us to saints who served as examples of walking through the fire and coming out on the other side with a deeper faith.

  We were blessed with financial gifts, with a big thanks to Joey Buran. Joey was a Hall of Fame surfer known as the “California Kid,” who had become a pastor at Calvary Chapel Costa Mesa. He had recently founded a youth outreach named Worship Generation. I had played at some of Joey’s events, and we became good friends.

  When Joey learned Melissa’s cancer had returned and spread, he began telling people in his congregation and on a live radio broadcast of his Worship Generation service about Melissa. He suggested that people send us money and gave out our mailing address. Friends and even people we didn’t know started sending us checks and notes of encouragement.

  Because of those gifts, I was able to take some time off from scheduling concerts and church services so I could spend my time with Melissa. I had to take Melissa to the hospital about every three days to have her stomach drained. There was so much fluid building up that on some visits they drained up to seven liters.

  I hated those drainings because they were painful procedures for Melissa. When I would see her winces and hear her soft moans, I would practically plead with God to heal her right there so the pain would stop. It was a helpless feeling to watch my wife ache and not be able to do anything about it. I knew my being beside Melissa was a big help for her, but I felt so inadequate when she hurt.

  The pain would continue when we returned home, too. Melissa was tough and tried to keep the focus off her suffering, but I remember one evening when she was lying on the couch in the living room and groaning in pain.

  “Can you pull out your guitar,” she asked me, “and can we worship?”

  It wasn’t a question I was expecting, but I quickly grabbed my guitar and sat close to her. We sang a song called “Good to Me.”

  There is a part of the song where the words “for You are good” are repeated several times. I had been singing with my head down and eyes closed, and one of the times when I was singing “for You are good,” I looked up and saw Melissa—weak and hurting—singing along with both hands raised to the Lord. The next words couldn’t get past my throat because I broke down at the sight of her unshakable faith.

  No matter how badly Melissa suffered, she continued to praise God. I would hear her tell God, “You are good. In the midst of the hardships and pain, You are good. Our circumstances don’t make sense, but You are good.” That reminded me of what I had heard my dad say many times while I was growing up: “Life is hard, but God is good.”

  We knew God could heal her instantaneously or through medicine and doctors blessed with God-given abilities to treat patients. In addition to our prayers, we tried holistic treatments such as making changes in Melissa’s diet, drinking carrot juice, and eating garlic soup and other foods believed to fight cancer.

  We explored treatment options in Mexico. We visited a run-down facility in Tijuana that had limos to transport people who had run out of hope after treatment in the States. Inside, the nurses were dressed in all white and wore hats with red crosses. They gave Melissa medication we couldn’t get back home, and then we drove back across the border to have Melissa’s abdomen drained again at the hospital.

  We also flew to Houston, Texas, to visit the MD Anderson Cancer Center.

  I called my mom after we arrived in Houston. “This is so hard because she’s so weak,” I said. “We had to get a wheelchair for her because she was so weak.”

  We were optimistic for a positive report from one of the best hospitals in the nation for cancer treatment, and the MD Anderson doctors did give us some hope. They told us that Melissa’s cancer was Stage III instead of Stage IV. They also said that while she had received the proper type of treatment in California, it had been stopped too soon. They told us to have her doctors restart the treatment, which might make a difference. The doctors also told us there were smaller things we could do that might help her, such as increasing her protein intake.

  But after we returned from Houston, Melissa rapidly lost weight.

  Because she was unable to keep food down, Melissa had to spend Christmas in the hospital. Her sister Megan had to undergo an emergency operation on Christmas Day, and their family was able to get them beds in the same room. Melissa had been really sad about having to be in the hospital during Christmas, but when Megan became her roommate, her family put up some decorations in the room and created a festive atmosphere.

  After Melissa left the hospital, the length of time between the awful drainings shrank. Her pain increased in frequency and intensity.

  I was trying to be strong for Melissa, but it was difficult. Several times when I knew Melissa couldn’t hear me, I called my parents.

  One of my parents would answer, and I would just break down crying.

  “It’s so hard,” I’d say.

  I considered myself as fighting alongside Melissa. I wanted to be an encouragement for her. But there were times when I thought, I can’t do this anymore. This is just too much—it’s too painful.

  But each time, God would send me a wave of strength that enabled me to continue fighting. And Melissa seemed to know what I needed too, because she would suggest, “Let’s worship the Lord.” To be honest, many times when she said that, worshiping was about the last thing I wanted to do. But each time, because she wanted to, I would get my guitar and sing along with her, praising God for all His goodness. Over and over, God used our times of worship to resupply us with the strength only He could provide.

  We kept placing our trust in God. We still talked about our future, even continuing to dream about one day having kids running around our home. A friend gave us an illustrated children’s book as a gift of hope, and we clutched that book as a reminder to dare to imagine better days ahead.

  CHAPTER 11

  “IT’S TIME”

  I wasn’t performing much music while Melissa was sick because I wanted to be with her as much as I could. We didn’t want to waste one moment we could have together, so on the few occasions when I did take part in an event, Melissa went with me if she was able.

  Horizon Christian Fellowship had asked me to be a part of their New Year’s Eve outreach at the convention center in San Diego. Melissa was unable to walk well by that point, but she wanted to go with me in her wheelchair. It required a lot of strength for her just to be there.

  The set that night included my first public performance of “Walk by Faith.” I shared with the audience the story behind the song—about Melissa and how the song had come to me on our honeymoon, and what had taken place following our honeymoon.

  I began singing and, truthfully, I wasn’t really feeling the words as I sang them. I hope that doesn’t come off as my being insincere about the song, because that wasn’t the case. That is a deep song that came at a moment when God was ministering to me, and I believe He gave me the words so that He could minister to others through my music. Over the past decade, I’ve heard from literally hundreds of people who wanted me to know how much that particular song has helped them. That night, though, there was just so much going on inside my mind because of Melissa’s deteriorating health.

  Melissa was in her wheelchair to the side of the stage, and when I neared the end of the song and was singing the hallelujahs, I looked to my left at Melissa. She was very skinny. Her face had thinned. I knew how weak she had become. But there she was with hands held high, singing with every ounce of strength she had, “Hallelujah”—the Hebrew for “Praise ye the Lord.”

  She was having the same type of intimate moment with the Lord as when she first caught my eye at the Bible study at Palomar College. On the exterior, Melissa had changed dramatically sin
ce then. But despite everything that had happened to her, her faith in God had not weakened. Instead, it had strengthened.

  When I saw Melissa praising God, I felt the Holy Spirit come across me like a strong wind. His power that I felt on that stage was incredible. It was another wave of strength that came exactly when I needed it.

  All right, I thought, let’s keep going.

  It wasn’t too long, though, before the arrival of the day I had dreaded and had even tried to prevent myself from thinking about. Melissa needed around-the-clock care in a hospital.

  Melissa’s mother and sister Heather had been helping to care for her. We had also had some outside assistance. For a couple of weeks, Melissa had needed continual care from us. She would dehydrate easily, so we had to change out her hydration pack. I would be awakened in the night by the beep of the equipment, alerting me that it was time to change her stent to keep her hydrated. I also would wake up on my own during the night just to make sure she was okay, so I wasn’t sleeping much or well.

  Melissa’s pain was probably the most difficult part for me. It worsened and grew more frequent. There was a painkiller I would give her, but if the pain had reached an excruciating level before I gave her the shot, it would be too late for the medicine to take effect. One time when she woke up in agony, I didn’t get the medicine fast enough. That was one of the worst nights of my life, to see her hurting and feel that it was my fault, that I had failed her.

  She had hard days, and she had days when she would be understandably irritable because of the pain. But I never once heard Melissa complain about it or question God.

  I stayed by her side all the time, but there were times when she would lovingly look at me and say, “I just need some alone time with the Lord.” I wouldn’t want to leave the apartment in case she needed to call out to me for something, so I would go into the bathroom and pray.

  God, seriously! You’ve got to do something—take her home or stop the pain or heal her. But this being in limbo thing . . .

  Melissa’s pain wasn’t going away. It was becoming more constant, and we could no longer give her the care she needed at home.

  Placing Melissa in a hospital felt like taking a step toward a finality that we would never be able to take back. I hurt at the likelihood that if God didn’t provide a miraculous healing, Melissa and I would never again be home together.

  Melissa had been in the hospital only a few days when her condition noticeably worsened. One of the doctors said they would do everything they could “to keep her comfortable.” I didn’t like hearing that. It sounded like the doctor was giving up. Fatigued and frustrated, I took it out on the doctor, getting in his face and yelling, “No, we’re not just waiting this out! Until the last day, we are going to pray for healing, trust the Lord, and not give up! We believe that God heals, and I’m not going to give up!”

  A doctor—I can’t recall if it was the same doctor—gave Melissa a book. I overheard him tell her the book was on how to prepare for the final days. When the doctor came out of the room, I stopped him.

  “Hey, don’t be giving her that book and basically say she’s gonna die,” I told him, “because we’re going to continue to have hope to the last day. Don’t be doing that kind of stuff.”

  “Listen,” the doctor calmly told me, “you need to face what’s happening now. You need to face reality.”

  “Reality,” I responded, “is that God can heal her.”

  I continued to believe that God could heal Melissa and continued to pray that He would. While Melissa slept, I’d sit beside her bed, watching her, watching the monitors for even the slightest change—in either direction—in her numbers. And I would pray over and over and over, God, please heal her. Please heal my wife.

  I would lay a pillow on the tile floor in Melissa’s room, put a blanket over me, and fall asleep. I didn’t like leaving her side, but sometimes I would go down to the hospital chapel and sleep there because it had padded pews.

  Our families were with us the entire time, along with a steady flow of friends into and out of the waiting room who brought us flowers and cards of encouragement and prayed for us. As she had her entire life, Melissa remained concerned first and foremost about others. She greeted visitors by asking how they were doing. She would take hold of someone’s hand, grip it as tightly as she could, smile at them, and make sure they understood how much she appreciated not just their visit, but them.

  Melissa always had a knack for knowing how and when to encourage others. One morning when my mom and dad were sitting with her, she told them, “I want you to know how much I love you both. You are the in-laws I prayed for, and the Lord brought you into my life.”

  She loved roses—yellow and red roses. There always seemed to be roses in her room that someone had brought to her. Visitors would receive a rose from Melissa, and she then would pray for them. She also would have members of her family deliver roses to other patients she had met. Her father was able to pray with other patients every day because of the rose deliveries.

  Melissa still enjoyed singing. Friends would bring guitars into her room to play worship songs, and she would sing along. One day when she was especially tired, I looked at her and said, “We’re going to beat this.”

  She starting softly singing, “Jesus loves me, this I know.” As we sang the rest of the song together, she raised her thin arms, not as high as she normally would but as high as she could. A minute or two after finishing the song, she fell asleep.

  The timeline while Melissa was in the hospital is still very fuzzy to me, but I think we were there for about two weeks. At one point, with her condition still worsening, she was moved into a critical-care area so she could receive a higher level of medical attention. Within a few days of that move, she began to slip in and out of consciousness. Her awake time became shorter and shorter, but the hospital staff was able to better manage her pain with increased levels of medication. Seeing Melissa suffer less helped and made me regret even more that I had confronted the doctor who said they would keep Melissa comfortable.

  Melissa prayed with the doctor before every shot she received or every procedure she underwent, and one of the nurses had been taking note of the faith of Melissa and those of us around her. The nurse saw the praying, heard the songs of praise, felt the peace in Melissa’s room, and sensed something was missing in her own life.

  Melissa had been praying for the nurse and had asked those of us staying with her to pray for the nurse too. Melissa’s dad prayed with the nurse one day, and she asked Jesus to come into her heart and be her Lord and Savior.

  “If I were to die from this cancer and just one person accepted Jesus because of it, it would all be worth it.”

  Melissa didn’t have much strength when she was told of the nurse’s decision, but she cried at learning that the purpose in her suffering had been accomplished. I think that confirmation was a beautiful gift to Melissa from God, saying, What you said, I have brought to fruition. I wanted you to see this happen.

  “Remember that ‘one person’?” I said to Melissa. “This is just the beginning. There will be many more.”

  WITH JESUS

  Melissa was sleeping one night when I sensed the Lord wanting me to take my guitar into an open waiting room next door and read from Psalms, a book that many times had been a source of comfort for me. David’s psalms reveal the raw honesty with which he poured out his heart to God. There is a clear trend in his psalms: he tells God of his trial and his hurt, asks why the trial is occurring, and then declares his trust in God and God’s unfailing loving-kindness and mercy.

  I began reading and felt God leading me to Psalm 119, where verses 153-154 say, “Consider my affliction and deliver me, for I do not forget Your law. Plead my cause and redeem me; revive me according to Your word” (NKJV).

  Revive me. That’s what I needed—reviving. In that empty room, I wrote the song “Revive Me.”

  (Verse 1)

  Consider my affliction and please deliver me,<
br />
  Plead my cause and redeem me.

  Salvation is not for the wicked,

  For they don’t seek Your Word.

  Great are Your tender mercies, Lord.

  (Chorus)

  Revive me, according to Your loving-kindness.

  Revive me, that I may seek Your Word.

  Revive me, according to Your loving-kindness.

  Revive me, oh, Lord.

  (Verse 2)

  You give me understanding according to Your Word,

  Great peace for those who seek Your face.

  I long for salvation,

  My lips shall praise Your name.

  I rejoice in the treasure of Your keep.

  (Bridge)

  For all my ways are before You,

  I let Your hand become my help.

  My soul longs and adores You,

  Let my cry come before You, oh, Lord.

  After I had written the final words, I returned to Melissa’s room. She was awake, and I asked if I could sing the song for her. Tears flowed from both our eyes.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “God gave this to me for us right now,” I told her.

  In the ensuing hours, Melissa became less responsive. We could tell that her body was shutting down, that her time was nearing.

  About ten of us were in Melissa’s room, still crying and praying for healing. It had been several hours since she had responded to any of us. Mike MacIntosh, our pastor friend from Horizon Church, walked over to me and whispered, “I think you need to let her know it’s okay, that she can go be with the Lord.”

  I gave Mike a slight nod, knelt beside Melissa, and leaned over to her ear. “It’s okay, love. We’ll be fine. Go and be with the Lord.” A few minutes later, our mothers began to sing “Heaven Is a Wonderful Place.” The song opens,