“There will be a test today.” In school, that announcement by the instructor can trigger the anxiety response in most students. After the test, there may be more anxious moments until a grade is issued.

At work, you’re given a project, something new to do. It pushes you to the limits of your skill, and when it’s done you get graded on the results. Will it mean a raise? A promotion? A pink slip?

At the clinic, someone draws blood, or takes an X-ray, or a scan, and then you’re told you’ll be contacted with the results. Whether it’s you or a loved one, the wait can be agonizing. Then the call comes, “I have your test results.” Will it produce a sigh of relief or will it be a life-shattering announcement?

But isn’t it true that every day is some kind of test? Some are graded on a curve; get on the right side of the curve and you’re good. Others are Pass/Fail. One thing’s for certain, we can’t escape the tests that life hands us.

A few years ago, my wife, Marleen, and I spent many hours in waiting rooms as she underwent blood tests, scans, x-rays and biopsies. Then we waited for test results. It was cancer. It’s amazing how that one word, “cancer” carries with it so much sheer dread. But I bravely told her we could handle this and that I’d be by her side through it all. That was my test, and the results weren’t pretty.

The treatment prescribed for her stage 4 cancer began with surgery, followed by chemotherapy, and concluded with radiation, eleven months from start to finish. The effects of the treatment on her body were terrible. I will not describe the effects, but I’ll tell you that she handled it all with bravery and determination.

My job was to help her with home medical care, all the household chores, and cooking. “I can do this.” I said.

The medical care was… Well I won’t describe it. “I can do this.”

Household chores and laundry were no bother, really, except that Marleen and I have different ways of determining cleanliness. My standard was, “Is it cleaner than it was before I started?” Her standard was, “My way or don’t bother.” A few conflicts arose from time to time. “I can do this.”

Cooking was another matter. Meal preparation, if it doesn’t involve a grill and some meat, is entirely out of my wheelhouse.  In fact, it’s not even on my radar screen. I don’t like to do it and I’m bad at it. I hate messes, yet all I have to do is start to cook something and messes ensue. Stuff boils over. I spill things. I drop things. I do things in the wrong order. During that year I’d often get so frustrated that I’d curse my lack of talent, and slam the utensils down, and bang pots around, while my poor wife (who is an excellent cook) sat at the kitchen table in silence and agony. We often ate poorly prepared food in silence. “I can do this.”

A few months into her treatment, I was in the basement doing laundry, dropping the sorted clothes into the washer, setting the dials, adding detergent and softener. Suddenly I just wanted to cry. Not wanting Marleen to hear me, I dashed up the stairs and out into the garage where I climbed into my car and the dam broke. I cried out loud “I can’t do this!” Over and over, sobbing, pounding on the dashboard, “I can’t do this!” I was, of course, talking to my God, who already knew what I was confessing, telling me,“I know you can’t do this…alone.” Still sobbing, I prayed, “I can’t do this. Please help me.”

I’d like to tell you that I went back into the house with a song in my heart and a smile on my face. No, I just dried my eyes, trusted my God, and finished doing the laundry before starting to fix our supper. I had flunked the test. I hadn’t made my wife’s life easier; I’d made it more difficult. But, the prayer was answered, and I persevered to the end. And my cooking did not kill us. After eleven months, Marleen was cancer free. She returned to the kitchen and I to the regular man-chores.

God gives us tests every day. Some of them are big. What I discovered during that awful year was that my pride in my own strength and sufficiency was ill-founded. When tested, I was brought to my knees. But God lifted me up so I could carry on. My pride had not just been wounded, it had been slain.

God is gracious. Jesus came to save the lost, not the perfect. Jesus went to the cross to cover our failure, our sin, otherwise we’d have no hope at all. After we receive this priceless gift, we get a helper for the trials that will surely come in this life. There is no “I can do this alone.”, there is only “With God’s help, I can do this.” Having to learn humility during a life crisis is not the best method. Better we should learn to lean on God at all times, so when the bad times come, we are ready.

“Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

Romans 8:26-28 (ESV)