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O to be God’s friend. Intimate. At ease. Honest. How thankful I am for the key to unlocking such closeness, a key that is found resting on the pages of Psalm 25. Consider verse 14, which states, “The friendship of the LORD is for those who fear him.” Three things leap out from among those words. First, friendship is really unique. In fact, so special is this gift, so intimate the opportunity, another way of translating “friendship” is “secret counsel.” Secondly, this intimacy is available. It is “for those” who want it. This, of course, blows wide open the notion that closeness to God is somehow off-limits or reserved for those with flowing robes. Thirdly, it is had by means of “fear,” or, perhaps better, “reverence” of God. Of course, this should provoke me toward a humility that is real, one that utterly defers to God in every sphere of my existence, one that, frankly, merits secrets. O to be God’s friend. It can be! It must be! And all he wants is all of me.

While scouring the major headlines the other day I stumbled upon a remarkable story about a British woman named Lorraine Allard [click here to read the article]. Perhaps you  have already read of her story. Frankly, it is one of the most captivating things I’ve read in a while, and a hopeful glimpse   of something far more substantive than whether or not Britney Spears has on underwear. Unlike Britney and the other “pop tarts” that tend to consume the American media, Mrs. Allard is a real heroine and role model.

Her story? Well simply enough it is the story of a young mother who, in her fourth month of being pregnant, is found to be in the advanced stages of liver cancer. If she is to have any hope of survival, she is told, then she must abort the baby and immediately begin a vigorous chemotheraphy regimen. Thankfully, Lorraine Allard disregarded that counsel, and, despite the pain and hardship brought on by the combination of pregnancy and the liver cancer, Lorraine gave birth–albeit prematurely–to a baby boy that she named Liam.

The rub, however, is that by disregarding the doctors’ initial counsel, it cost Lorraine her life. Within a few weeks of Liam’s birth she died, leaving her husband Martyn to care for their two daughters and the new baby. The medical prognostication came true; the cancer got the best of her.

But what a legacy for her to leave! Oh, yes, pundits will declare that little Liam will possibly grow up sad and feeling as if he were the cause of her death. Skeptics will suggest that she was stupid to be so sacrificial, the baby was at risk anyway, and now her husband and other children are all alone. Or, raw selfishness will shape the thinking of some. Consider these comments by Alice Walsh in London:

Brave? Heroic? Stupid more like. Sorry, but when it comes to choosing between your own life and that of your unborn baby, who was pretty much not able to live on its own when she found out she had cancer I would always chose [sic] my own life. After all, what guarantees are there that her baby, born 25 weeks makes it after all? Then the father is left with noboby.

Hmmm.

But back to the legacy thing. What a testimony of other-centeredness that has now been handed down to her daughters. What a statement of sacrifice that has been displayed to a watching world so accustomed to anything but. And what a heritage for Liam to bask in, growing up as he may, perhaps with grief, but more importantly with a strong picture of what real, substantive love really is all about.

Can you imagine that moment when, following the C-section, she got to hold her little boy? When she looked into his beautiful eyes? When she felt his soft breath? Do you think she discerned that whatever cost this may be for her would pale in comparison to the rich contribution Liam would be for time and space?

And do you think that somewhere deep down Lorraine, with such a lovely smile and big bright eyes, knew that by doing things her way instead of the doctors she was actually contributing to a culture of life, even if our world has yet to really catch up?