Tag Archives: illness

How Do You Say Goodbye?

Posted on by
13

A dear friend of mine went to the hospital. My dear, dear friend had routine surgery. My dear, dear, dear friend was on the operating table when they discovered her body was full of cancer. That was last Friday. Today is Monday. She is not expected to live past this evening.

And still, she smiles. She jokes. With a little less life, a little less breath, she smiles and she jokes and she tells the doctor to get back to work because she has nothing to do but wait for her eyes to close. She smiles because she knows when her eyes close, they will reopen to the face of her long-awaited Prince.

I told her to tell Jesus that I want a yellow house, just like the one her and I and another friend use to go to for lunch and pie. Always pie. Always a la mode. Always. Sometimes we may not have wanted the soup or the sandwich (rarely), but always the pie. As you can sense, it was good pie. Two slices of pecan a la mode and one slice of sour cream and raisin a la mode. Warmed just a tad bit.

One day we went flower picking. Bright pinks, yellows, reds, purples. Petals of practically every color of the rainbow greeted us as we pushed open the wooden gate to her friend’s backyard. A backyard of dahlias covered the bare dirt and stood up to six feet tall. She snipped and clipped blooms while I snapped pictures of every one I could. We laughed. We talked. It was one of the highlights of my life. A bright summer day.

I used to work in a church office. Someone received a bouquet of beautiful red roses and I had to deliver them to the recipient. How I wished they had been for me. As I rounded the corner going back to my office, my dear, dear, dear, dear friend was there. She was holding a green glass vase full of deep and light purple lilacs that she had clipped in her yard and brought to me. The fragrance seeped into my soul and refreshed my spirit. She was my angel that day. She loved flowers as much as I did.

She will be Home in a few hours. The angels must be setting the table as I write. They are probably humming as they go – excited by the near arrival of my dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear friend. We who are left behind however, weep the loss of this saint. This one who frowned upon gossip and never said an unkind word about anyone. This one near 80 years old, who giggled like a little girl. This one who had the gift of encouragement and sent handmade cards regularly and often to cheer others up. This friend who, when there was a need, did what she could. This one I call Neva. This one the Father calls Beloved.

I shiver when I look up into the sky and think this could be the moment when Christ is standing at the gate, welcoming her home in His arms. I thank my God that two weeks ago I made the time to sit with her while I was in Idaho and share lunch. Her and Vivian. Just like old times. Two of my very favorite people.

There was no pie that day and the Yellow House has closed. We found another place to dine and the fellowship was just as sweet.

My dahlias are blooming. When I look at them I think of Neva. When I look at them from now on, I will remember Neva. Her smile, her spirit, her giggle, her generosity, and her ability to bring sunshine into the lives of so many others.

I will miss you so much, Neva. But I know that someday I will see you again. And when I do, while Vivian enjoys her sour cream and raisin pie, we’ll enjoy some ‘heavenly’ pecan pie – a la mode, of course. And the fellowship will be so sweet.

Easter Series, Part 8: A Face In The Crowd

Posted on by
Reply

Today’s point of view is that we’re a nameless face in the crowd. No one of significance or importance – til we come face to face with Jesus.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

roses-in-jars-unedited

Dear Diary,

Today I worked up my courage and followed the man they say heals. I can attest to years of suffering with this illness that no one can define. An illness that has kept me at bay from friends and family. But today, I followed this man to see for myself who it was that everyone is talking about.

I saw nothing, but felt everything. The demeanor of the crowd was electrifying and something to the very core of my being gave me chills and in the depths of my soul I knew – I just knew – this was the we have been waiting for.

He was walking to the grassy knoll near the outer gates. Masses of people gathered around to hear him speak and I did no different, though I stood from afar, knowing what would happen if I came to close and not wanting to be cast away.

He spoke of warnings – things to come. He spoke of how we should love one another. It was like a healing balm to my heart just to listen. There was power in His words. There was strength in His voice.

My body grew faint and I retreated down the hill and back home to rest. I tire quickly, but one thing I have promised myself – I am going back tomorrow. Wherever he goes, I am going to follow as long as the God of Israel gives me strength.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

I sat on the rocks near the waterside today, watching from afar. Jesus was there, watching the fisherman out in their boats, casting their nets into the sea. They were flustered at not catching anything and then the most amazing thing happened. Jesus yelled something – I could not hear what – but they threw their nets back out and pulled in a boatload! If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have walked over to where he sat. I just know He can heal me. And, I just know He would.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

Crowds gathered again near the city gates under the olive trees. Thousands. I sat on a rock, hoping no one would notice and send me away. Jesus seemed so weary, so tired, but there, with his men, he began to feed those who had come. I watched intently and know they had only a basketful of food. Yet, the food kept being passed and handed out. Oh, God of Israel, provide the opportunity I need. I want to serve you with everything inside of me but should it not be your will, then I will continue to serve you just as I am.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

I do not know that I can even pen my thoughts this evening. I had just put the last dish in its place and was ready to lay down when I heard the commotion outside my door. Weary, I opened the door to look outside and here he came, passing right in front of me. This was the time, I knew it. But the crowd was so large and to get to him was nearly impossible. But I knew the power that was within Him would cure the sickness within me. Boldly I inched my way closer to him as the crowds pressed in. I feared I would be trampled but I pressed forward until I could just reach the edge of his garment and then I touched him. Immediately, a chill not unlike that of the other day ran through my body and the bleeding that I have had for twelve years stopped. Right then. I did not need confirmation of who this man was, but He gave it anyway.

However, when I touched his garment, somehow he knew and stopped walking, asking the crowd who it was that had touched him. Had I done something wrong? Was his power to heal only reserved for a select few? No. God does not play favorites.

I could not hide. He would know anyhow. His men said it was so crowded it could have been anyone. However, something drew me in – drew me to step closer and answer. Trembling with fear, I approached Him as the crowd stepped back. The moment the last person stepped away, I was face to face with Him. I could not stand and fell at his feet.

“It was me, my Lord. I touched your cloak. For twelve years, I have been sick and no one has been able to help me, but you – my Lord, I knew you could. I knew you had the power to heal me and so I touched your cloak knowing that if the God of Israel willed me to be well, he would do it through you my Lord. And He did.”

The crowd gasped at my response and at that moment, I looked up and his eyes locked onto mine. Eyes that were warm and filled with kindness, putting my sudden fear to rest. Eyes that didn’t condemn but understood. As I looked into those eyes, I knew he was more than just a man. I knew he was the Messiah.

“Daughter,” he responded, “your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

Kissing his feet, I cried. “Thank you, my Lord.”

I stood and did as He said – I went in peace.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dear Diary,

Although I have so much to celebrate – new life, new health – my heart now bleeds. They have arrested Jesus and sentenced him to be crucified. I know he could stop this terror. It must be that he must endure this horrific treatment for reasons I cannot understand. I have gone everywhere he has been since he healed me, hanging on his every word, trying to remember everything he has said to the multitude of crowds these last few days.

I don’t understand the people I stood next to on the road, who yelled ‘Hosanna’ at Jesus just days ago who now yell for him to be crucified. I could not watch the bloodthirsty people who condemn him for his kindness and truth. So I went and sat down by the waterside where I had seen him sit so peacefully. And as I sat there, I felt compelled to pray to the God of Israel.

The commotion grew louder in the direction of where the temple stands. I got up and walked toward the knoll which overlooked the road to Golgatha, where they crucify the criminals. As I watched people laugh and spit in his face, my prayer grew stronger. A man in the crowd put down his sack and took Jesus’ cross upon his own back. The streaks of blood from whatever was on his head flowed down his face and as he continued, I could see stripes of blood covering the welts across his back.

Why were people laughing?!? Could they not see what was happening? Did they not understand who it was they mocked? How can we be such an ignorant people as to not see the truth right before us and just let it pass us by? Oh, God of Israel, help us!

I stood on that knoll and wept. After returning home, I could hear others outside. There was a different aura – some drinking, obvious by their gait, others laughing but not joyous, while others were passing by in an eerie silence. I wasn’t able to eat and after the crowds lessened, I opened the door to look out. It was quiet as the sky darkened above, in an uncommon covering. I grabbed my shawl and walked against flow. There was a chill in the air and I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders.

As I approached Golgotha, I was reminded why I don’t come here. There he hung and the soldiers were lifting an object to His lips when he yelled, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” Onlookers beat themselves and mourned loudly as if they themselves had just been handed a death sentence. A group of women stood from afar – women I had seen in the crowds in days past.

I looked back at Jesus, his arms outstretched, nails holding his hands in place. The very hands that had touched my head as I knelt at his feet were now being held to that cross.

He was dead. I knelt as the sky turned to black and screams could be heard from the temple square. Tears fell from my face. What part did this have to play in anything? How could this serve to make him king?

I don’t know. I don’t understand, but I know that I will not stop believing for something in my heart and soul tells me that something better is coming. Until that day, I will tell everyone just what He did for me.

j0308984signature