Sometimes the pain of life in the midst of suffering becomes more than we can bear. It did for Roger Wilkin. His story is painful, but the simple prayer of his dying son touched his heart and enabled him to continue on.

Life was full and rich. I was the first college graduate from either side of my family. I had worked hard and the world had rewarded me. A wonderful home in the suburbs. A job that I loved and that paid well. A beautiful wife and daughter. And now, to round out life perfectly, our newest arrival - a son, my first.

Johnny was blessed with a great genetic mix, receiving the best from both mom and dad. From mom - beauty and brightness. From dad - personality and determination. A winning combination in which the sky was the limit.

We affectionately nicknamed him "Ricochet Rabbit," because he and his older sister Anne Marie seemed to possess boundless energy. Nighttime reading was an exhausting experience. I would read, and he would run. I was convinced he was learning only every tenth word as he passed by earshot of the book. Baseball was more suiting to his personality. The fundamentals were learned by age three on a baseball diamond in our basement. The crashing of a whiffle ball against the furnace and cinder block could be heard throughout the house. But we all endured because there were dreams of bigger games to come.

Dreams, unfortunately, are sometimes no more than dreams. As I sat with my wife Sandy in a waiting room at Children's Hospital in Philadelphia, nothing in life had prepared me for the doctor's words, "Your child has inoperable cancer."

I remember saying, "This must be a bad dream. Sandy, please wake me." But I was awake. And this wasn't just a bad dream, it was a malignant dream that would consume all other dreams in its path.

My only son. My beautiful, bright, three-and-a-half-year-old son. The object of so many of my hopes and dreams. The son for whom I prayed since he was an infant. Protection, health, wisdom, faith - these had been my prayers through the years. And now cancer! God, what are you doing?

I knew what God wanted me to do - keep trusting and praying. My wife and I, joined by hundreds of friends, never prayed harder in our lives. From the first symptoms, I prayed for wisdom for the doctors - but the medical treatment was ineffective. I also prayed for relief from pain - but the cancer invaded his spine, generating almost unbearable pain. Most of all I prayed for healing - but the cancer was unrelenting.

Well meaning, but insensitive, people said I needed to trust God more. What could I say? I was doing the best I knew how. Was I perfect? Absolutely not! Did I desire to be? Absolutely! I would have done anything God said, even giving my own life in exchange.

In the midst of Johnny's pain, mine paled in comparison. How do I explain cancer to my child who is suffering in so many ways?

"Daddy, will I ever get my hair back?"

What do I say? No way to describe chemotherapy. No way to describe the prognosis. No way to explain away the stares of others. What do you say to a once-beautiful, three-year-old son who looks like a poster child for a famine appeal?

Apart from a miracle, I knew what was coming. Through tears I am sure he saw, I could only manage the simple refrain, "Jesus loves you, this I know, for the Bible tells me so."

Johnny accepted my statement of faith. He didn't ask the question again. Such faith in the midst of such pain. Jesus' words from so many years ago flashed across my mind, Unless you become like a little child, you shall never enter the kingdom of heaven. I only wished I could trust like my son.

My pain increased as I watched the cancer invade other parts of his body. I was forced to watch my son be tortured in front of my eyes, and I could do nothing about it. Anger was building as the unanswerable question formed on my lips, "If God exists, then why . . .?" Even Jesus' words, "Not my will be done, but thy will be done," were silenced by my pain.

The day before Johnny died, he was in terrible agony. We had brought him home from the hospital several weeks before because there was nothing more they could do. We placed a mattress on the floor next to our bed so we could be with him continually. The cancer was unbelievably aggressive. It had invaded his spine. He had pain everywhere. Morphine helped for a while, but then the pain would return with a vengeance.

God had promised, "We would not be tempted beyond what we could endure." In case God didn't know it, I told Him, "NO MORE! I CAN ENDURE NO MORE!" But God was not through with me.

Later that day, as I was holding Johnny's new sister Christina, I heard Johnny's cry. This cry seemed particularly painful, and I rushed in to see him. Watching him suffer again was more than I could take. Too much pain. Too little sleep. Too many shattered dreams. Too little faith. As I stood next to him, I raised my eyes to the ceiling and shouted out through my tears, "God, where the hell are you? Don't you care? Can't you see? Won't you help? Speak, God! Damn you, speak!" But just silence. No lightning bolts for me, no helping hands for Johnny. Just silence.

But wait! I hear a small, weak voice. No, it is not God's but Johnny's. I drop to one knee and put my ear close to his mouth. "Johnny, what did you say?"

His response brought me down to both knees. "Daddy, I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to Jesus."

A sense of awe began to sweep over me. With hushed anticipation I said, "Okay, go ahead. I'll just listen."

Then Johnny spoke these words, "Dear Jesus, help my daddy to be happy and not sad."

Sobs immediately gushed forth from a depth within me I'd never known. Sobs of joy. Sobs of sorrow. Sobs of repentance. Sobs of hope. I couldn't believe my ears. I couldn't believe what my son had just said.

God had indeed spoken to me through the voice of my child. In the midst of his worst pain, he prayed for his faithless dad. "Dear Jesus, help my daddy to be happy and not sad," were my son's final words on this earth.

Those words brought the words of another suffering Son to my ears, Forgive them for they know not what they do.  Johnny had what I wanted - a faith in God that transcends circumstances, an eternal perspective that overcomes our present suffering. God, thank you. Thank you for my son who has given me a glimpse of what you want me to become.

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