Several years ago, when I was in Bible college, I was summoned from my botany class to answer a phone call from my wife, Evon. “Doug,” she said excitedly, “I’m pregnant.” I was equally excited and didn’t get much done that day in class.
The next nine months couldn’t go fast enough. We were disappointed when the doctor told us the delivery would need to be induced. Still, we went to the hospital, full of anticipation, on the date scheduled. Evon’s labor was hard, but at 5:15 P.M. on February 19, 1985, Joshua Ryan Herman came into the world. And despite complications in labor-Evon had hemorrhaged and received a transfusion of two units of blood-she recovered quickly, and both mother and son did fine.
The next eighteen months of family life flew by happily. Joshua was old enough to walk and talk when we received an unexpected call from Evon’s OB/GYN doctor. They asked Evon to come to the office for tests. Her blood was drawn and examined.
Somehow when we met with the doctor and the infectious disease specialist, we knew what they would say: “Mr. and Mrs. Herman, in our back-testing of donated blood, we have discovered that one of the two units you received tested positive for HTL-III, the virus that has the potential to cause AIDS. We don’t have a lot of answers or research to give you. Future children are out of the question. Personal hygiene must be strictly sanitary. It is important that you tell no one. If you need us, call.”
The news sank in slowly. We smiled outwardly and calmly assured them, “We understand. Don’t worry, we’ll be all right.” Then we returned to the tranquility of our home. But we were not tranquil.
Evon seemed to repress what had happened. I didn’t: Evon could die! No, Evon would die! I could also test positive in the future!
In the weeks that followed, often I asked God, “Why?” We had given up everything to minister to others. Why us?
We focused on Scriptures about assurance and healing. “By his stripes we were healed,” I would quote aloud. And I would tell Evon, “You’ve already been healed. When that infectious blood entered your body, it was seared clean by the healing touch of Jesus! ‘They shall drink any deadly poison and it shall not harm them.’ That includes poisoned blood.” Evon would only force a reassuring smile and continue her daily chores.
She did have faith for healing, however, and in keeping with our Pentecostal tradition, we often participated in healing services.
As time passed, we had remarkable evidence that God could protect us from further harm: I tested negative time after time, as did Joshua. That alone was a miracle. But since the AIDS PCR test was not yet available, we couldn’t be sure whether Evon had been healed. She could be clean of the virus and still test positive for antibodies.
Some time later, I became youth pastor of a church in central Texas. We told almost no one of our situation; we were terrified of their possible reactions. At that time so little was known about the disease.
Moreover we would overhear Christians talk of AIDS as “God’s curse upon homosexuals and drug users, the due penalty for their sin.” Would they believe me if I told how Evon got it? Would they conclude it was God’s curse on us?
I concluded that since we were claiming, by faith, the healing of Evon, there was no need to raise the subject. The pastor and his wife knew; that was enough.
In fact the “God’s curse” idea reinforced my faith. We were innocent! Not only had we done nothing wrong, we had sacrificed everything to do right. God would therefore not allow this curse to fall on his innocent children.
I believed so strongly in Evon’s healing and our protection that we used no contraceptives, ignoring the doctor’s advice to have no more children. I naively thought, What better way to show God’s healing power to the world than to deliver a baby that was without the virus? Before long, Evon became pregnant.
The Trying Reality
For days Evon called OB/GYN doctors in Austin. We received the same response in a variety of forms:
“I’m sorry. Our clientele is full.”
“I’m sorry. We are not staffed to see AIDS patients.”
“I’m sorry. Have you tried Planned Parenthood?”
After three weeks we finally found a doctor who said, “I do see some AIDS patients, but please keep this confidential. If people were to find out, I would be so swamped it would become impossible.”
And he was straightforward with us: “Chances are this child will test positive for the virus, eventually contract AIDS, and die. Have you considered terminating this pregnancy?”
“No. If God wants this pregnancy terminated,” I replied, “then he can do it.”
Time passed slowly during this pregnancy. Evon experienced much pain and discomfort. Meanwhile, we moved to another church in a Denver suburb to work as youth pastors.
Again the fear of telling people haunted us. We informed our new pastor and found him to be extremely understanding. But we didn’t tell the church. If Evon was healed, why tell them?
In the fall of 1988 Evon gave birth to our daughter, Ashli Nicole. Ashli showed no ill effects. At six weeks of age, the doctors tested and found her blood positive for the virus. Newborns often receive a transferal of antibodies from the mother, however. There was still the possibility that she would test negative in the future after her body flushed out the mother’s antibodies.
Weeks passed. More tests. With each one a more positive reading for antibodies. No. Ashli was not healed. I had brought her into a world of sickness and death.
One evening I went to the church to pray. I needed God to tell me what to do. I asked him simple questions: “How can my wife be sick? How can Ashli be positive?” I blamed myself. I raged, wept, sweated, wondered. But no voice, no sign came from heaven.
I thought about others who suffered innocently. Job’s children died. With no healing or warning, they were gone. I thought of Hebrews 11, “They all died, not receiving in themselves the promise that had been given.” Death came again and again, not healing.
I prayed again what had become a daily refrain. “Dear God, I know you love me. I know you are alive and personal. Why you don’t intervene is beyond my understanding. Please, just this once, reveal yourself in peace and healing. I need to know you are with me.”
Silently I waited for a word. If only I could see him. If only I could feel his loving arms around me. If only I could look into his eyes. But I went home that night empty, disappointed.
With a select few, Evon and I cautiously shared our terrible secret. But even that had its limitations. For instance, Ed, a good friend, knew. One day we went to lunch to discuss program ideas, and the conversation eventually turned to my family’s need.
“In our business,” he said, “we practice putting ourselves in the customer’s shoes to understand his perspective. You don’t know how hard I’ve tried to put myself in your shoes, to understand what you must be going through. But I just can’t.”
“To be honest with you,” I said, “I’m not sure I understand what I’m going through either.” I appreciated Ed’s honesty and his companionship. We pulled away from Chili’s parking lot in silence.
Ed dropped me off outside the church office. “If you or Evon need anything,” he said, “anything at all, please call us. We’re here for you.” I looked into his eyes and thanked him sincerely.
Still, as he pulled away, I thought to myself, You’re right, Ed. You don’t understand. You care, but you will never understand what we are going through.
God’s Presence
In my office, I leaned back in my chair, sighed, and whispered a prayer. “Oh God, I know Ed and others want to help, but I want you to reveal yourself to me.” My eyes glanced at the bookshelf, where a book on suffering caught my eye. I pulled it out and read.
Soon, one thought from the book arrested me: God had already been revealing himself to me, by giving me his body, the church, to love and support me through this crisis. But I had rejected his chosen way of helping me. As a minister whom God had called to leadership, I wanted to touch God without the help of others. Instead, I discovered that in the church, we can touch one another and reveal God’s love to one another. I saw that in one sense, the church is supernatural.
With that insight in my heart, I began to wonder whether I could trust the body of Christ. Laying my head in my hands, I began to weep. Memories of how we had been mistreated came to mind.
A few years ago when I was a youth pastor, I talked about Evon’s sickness at a meeting of fellow youth pastors. I was encouraged by their empathetic responses until one well-meaning minister said, “I know the Scripture is true. God doesn’t want Christians to die before they are 70 or 80 years old. You have to have faith, Doug. You’ve got to have faith!”
His words hit like body blows. Unfortunately, he was not the first to say such things. Of the few people who knew of my crisis, several had done more to hurt than to help.
I was afraid to allow myself and my family to be vulnerable. Yet I realized that is what God did in Christ. If we were going to know the full extent of God’s comfort and help, we had to reach out, risking pain to gain love.
Finally we told the church. In both morning services our pastor stood on our behalf and explained the situation. Afterward the vast majority of the people came forward, wept with us, and embraced us. A few sat in shock for several minutes and then walked out without seeing us.
That decision brought us much pain and frustration with much more undoubtedly to follow. A few people couldn’t deal with my family’s sickness. They avoided us. A doctor in the church advised a certain level of quarantine for Ashli in the nursery. There was tension and awkwardness in some relationships.
However, the pain cannot compare with the tangible presence of Jesus Christ that was released through the simple acts of love and acceptance of his body.
Members of the congregation responded in ways that have meant everything to me and my family. Here’s how the church became the body of Christ for us, and how we’ve learned to minister to others in this same situation.
Send encouraging cards. In our living room we have an encouragement basket. It overflows with cards from friends who have shown they care by taking the time to write.
Invite them into your home. One couple in our church invited us over for barbecued hamburgers-and a soak in their hot tub! They knew there was no risk, and they broke down the paranoia.
Visit them in the hospital and hold or touch them. One couple began to visit our daughter in the hospital without even telling us they were there. They would hold Ashli and rock her to sleep when we couldn’t. Today we are best of friends with them.
Assist with daily needs. Evon often gets tired, so a weekly visit by one girl to do general cleaning has relieved a lot of stress. In addition, when Evon and Ashli were both hospitalized, some of the women of our church sent Joshua and me home-cooked food. Friends have taken my son, Joshua, for a day to give us time off.
Also, since AIDS increases fatigue, Evon often needs to sleep in, take naps, or go to bed early. This means that when we coordinate activities and schedules with others, we’ve appreciated when they understand our constraints and allow time for adequate rest.
Don’t always ask how they feel. Someone wearing a cast quickly tires of the question, “What happened to your arm?” Naturally people are concerned about us, but when they ask how we are doing each time we meet, it becomes oppressive. We like to be asked about our health, like anyone else, but we also like to have normal, carefree conversations without the shadow of AIDS.
Be careful when you’re sick. Although we do appreciate a hug, when someone totes a cold or flu virus, that’s a different story. They could be carrying a life-ending virus. Sometimes we have had to hurt others’ feelings by refusing affection. When sick, a smile and a wave will do just fine.
Continue to enjoy yourself around them. One individual speaks to Evon in a somber tone that could paralyze a coroner. Conversely, Evon looks forward to her time with Roxanne, who has learned to laugh at life and its complexities. Everyone enjoys a good laugh. Everyone.
In short, we like it best when people remember we are people not dying with AIDS but living with AIDS.
Although I once felt far from God’s felt touch, I now know God’s presence by his Holy Spirit in the church. I cannot understand why all this has happened to my family, but I know that we have personally experienced his love in the midst of it.
Editor’s note: Ashli Herman died in January of 1991, at age 2. As of press time, Evon is extremely fatigued and has a chronic cough. Last fall she underwent surgery to put tubes in her ears to alleviate ear infection, and she has been losing weight. Doug’s senior pastor resigned in late 1990, and in accordance with church policy, Doug also tendered his resignation. In February 1991, Doug began Family Matters, a ministry to youth and their families.
Copyright © 1991 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
