New Brunswick writer Lynda Lewis remembers the inspiring faith of her friend Rebecca Ann Cooper.
Who can explain God? He doesn’t explain Himself, and I have to trust Him – even when it’s hard. Becky’s story helped me understand that faith doesn’t always make sense. Sometimes, faith simply shines. That’s what I continue to take from her story almost two decades later.
Rebecca Ann Cooper was born in Fredericton, N.B., on January 1, 1982. She grew up attending Smythe Street Cathedral with her family – her mother, Debra Cooper-Roach, her late father, Ben Cooper, and later her stepfather, George Roach. My daughter and Becky grew up together in that same church, sang in the youth group, graduated the same year and even travelled together on a mission trip to the Ivory Coast with their youth pastor Elaine Kaley.
To know Becky was to see optimism personified. She was positive, upbeat and full of laughter. She had a sharp sense of humor and a faith so strong that when she was diagnosed with Juvenile Huntington’s Disease, she refused to give in. Her courage stirred prayer, fasting and hope across churches, small groups and countless individuals.
One Christmas I visited her at home while she made a gingerbread house with her mother. She let me sneak gumdrops, giggling, and then placed her hand on my arm. With absolute certainty she said, “Lynda, the Lord is going to heal me, and I’m going to have babies.”
I agreed with her, smiling at the joy radiating from her pink and purple bedroom – her favourite colours, especially at Christmas and on her birthday.
Later, while visiting Becky at Dr. Everett Chalmers Regional Hospital, I noticed her pink boa – a feathered scarf she insisted on wearing like a movie star – was tied to her wheelchair, ready in case she needed it. While eating chocolate ice cream that afternoon, she repeated, “Lynda, the Lord is going to heal me, and I’m going to have babies.” And I repeated my agreement. I continued to pray with countless others, trusting God with her healing.
Becky’s friends share similar memories of her faith.
Krystal Simonson, who grew up alongside her, wrote, “From the time we were young, Becky longed to have children of her own. When my daughter was born, I would bring her to visit Becky. Even when Becky could no longer speak, she would smile the most beautiful smile and make soft, sweet sounds as she held the baby. Her joy filled the room. Becky taught us what it means to trust God’s plan with your whole heart.”
Chaundra Vahi, her roommate on the youth mission trip, wrote, “One day in Ivory Coast, a wave knocked us over from behind as we walked the beach. We ran back to the hotel soaked like wet cats and borrowed Pastor Elaine’s hair dryer – only to blow a fuse within seconds. Becky just prayed over it, handed it back, and somehow it worked again! That was Becky – nothing was too big or too small to bring before God. Years later, as I visited her in palliative care, we flipped through our photo albums. Even then she said, ‘Remember when we had to pray for Elaine’s hair dryer?’ and we laughed. Her faith never wavered.”
The last time I saw Becky was also in palliative care. The prognosis was grim, yet she refused to speak of her death. Driving home that night, tears streaming down my face, I prayed aloud, “Father, I don’t understand. Why haven’t You healed her? Nothing would glorify You more.”
And in the quiet of my car, God spoke to my heart. “First of all, Lynda, I do not need to be glorified. I am Glory. Is your world so great that you would deny my Becky paradise? Whether you see her healed here or I bring her home, Becky will be healed and have babies. Do you think there are no babies here for her? The lost, the stillborn, the ones who never had a chance – they are all with me too. Would you deny Becky a place without suffering, a new body, and no more tears? Trust me, Becky will be healed and have her babies.”
I was humbled. Did I really believe in heaven the way Becky did?
On August 22, 2010, her celebration of life was held at Smythe Street Cathedral, filled with people whose lives she had touched. Memorial donations were directed to the Huntington Society of Canada, the Palliative Care Unit at the D.E.C.H., and the NB Extra-Mural Program, all of which supported her journey.
Today when I think of Becky, I see her healed, whole and radiant – surrounded by the babies she longed for, experiencing the joy of heaven in ways we can only imagine. She never once spoke of a wedding or a husband – only healing and babies. She was grateful for every visitor and for the carolers who sang when she couldn’t leave her bed.
Her final wish was simple – visit a shut-in or do an act of kindness. Maybe we can all honour her that way.
Becky fought the good fight – and won. Her story reminds me that Christians never truly say goodbye. We say, “Till we meet again.”
Lynda Lewis of Rusagonis, N.B., is an inspirational writer, storyteller, speaker and radio host. Lake photo: Senning Luk on Unsplash.