"Every Scripture is God-breathed (given by His inspiration) and profitable for instruction, for reproof and conviction of sin, for correction of error and discipline in obedience, [and] for training in righteousness (in holy living, in conformity to God’s will in thought, purpose, and action),  So that the man of God may be complete and proficient, well fitted and thoroughly equipped for every good work." II Timothy 3:16-17 (TAB)

 

We had reached the end of our visit. I was finishing up reading Scripture and we were discussing what we had just read when she walked in.  Tall, blond, athletic the RN briskly entered.  "Oh, I'm just finishing up," I said, "I'll get out of your way so you can do your visit."  I began to gather my things together.

 

"There's no need for you to leave."  She replied, turning to the patient, "I understand you have been having a little trouble with your bowels?" she queried.  The patient nods in agreement.

 

Bowels, bowels?  That doesn't really sound like a chaplain area of expertise.  I continue to gather my things as I keep an ear open for the next comment. 

 

Snap!! I see a glove being put on, and a quick, "Let's take a look, shall we?"  I begin to gather my things in earnest.  This is really not a chaplain area. 

 

"I'll just go now."  I say, "we were done anyway." 

 

"Oh, don't go," she responds, "she has an impacted bowel and you'll be a great distraction while I clean it out.  Stay, it'll be fine."

 

Impacted bowel, distraction, clean it out, stay.  The words come to me in a disjointed, loose limbed kind of way.  Really?  Stay?  I try to remember if this was ever in my job description.  I wonder if the patient is going to be embarrassed.  I wonder if I'm going to be sick or pass out or worse. 

 

The patients spouse comes in to assist the RN.  In order to "distract" the patient I begin to read more Scripture.  As I read, my mind is reminding me, don't look,

 

the Word of God is good for instruction -- yes, Lord but this?,

 

hold your breath,

 

the Word of God is good for reproof -- but what about impacted bowels?,

 

 no, really, don't look,

 

the Word of God will equip you for every good work, does this count as a good work, Lord?, 

 

 breath through your nose, eyes on the page not what's happening in the bed.  DON'T LOOK!!!  From the corner of my eyes I see the patient turned on her side, I hear her moans of discomfort, I keep reading, and reading, and. . .

 

Done.  The deed is done.  I really can't tell who is more relieved the patient or myself.  The RN snaps off the rubber gloves, gives a word of comfort to the patient, leaves the room to speak to the patients spouse, glances at me as if to say, "you did good." and strides out.

 

I sit down, weak at the knees.  I look at the patient, making small talk as I finally (really) finish my visit.  The momentary embarrassment passed and the patient and I enjoyed many more hours together reading and discussing the Scripture.  We never again shared a moment quite this intimate and for that I am grateful.

 

Lord, I thank you for your Word.  For all it's qualities and gifts.  I thank you that it will not go forth void but will accomplish that which it is sent to do.  I praise you and thank you that on that day, for that time, your Word kept me grounded in the moment, kept me present.  Please help me to remember that the only things that can embarrass us are those things that we let embarrass us and help me have the gift of making others feel comfortable in even the most potentially embarrassing moments.  Give me the gift of graciousness and compassion.  Amen.

 

 

  

 

"For if you forgive people their trespasses [their reckless and willful sins, leaving them, letting them go, and giving up resentment], your heavenly Father will also forgive you.  But if you do not forgive others their trespasses [their reckless and willful sins, leaving them, letting them go, and giving up resentment], neither will your Father forgive you your trespasses."  Matthew 6: 14-15 (TAB)

I got the word today that she had died.  I had only met her once but even in that short of a time there was a bond, an understanding in the spirit.  She wasn't even my patient but the other chaplain was out of town so I was asked to go.  "She's afraid of dying," the Social Worker said.  "No one really knows what's bothering her but she is afraid.  I think she'd benefit from a chaplain visit."  Of course I went. 

I was greeted by her daughter who looked tired from the stress of sharing the care-giving duties with her step-father.  She stayed with the patient during the day while her step-father slept and he would take over at night.  Other family members came in and out but most of the care (giving meds, turning, changing diapers, getting glasses of water, the list can be endless) was divided between the two of them.  As she lead me to the couch, I glanced at the patient who was asleep in her medical bed in the middle of the once spacious living room.  We talked quietly together as she reaffirmed what the SW had told me.  "I'm not sure what the issue is," she sighed.  "We've done everything we can to make her comfortable and she chose to discontinue treatment.  Maybe she is worried about leaving my step-father on his own?"  As we talked back and forth, speculating on the patients fear, the patient began to rouse from her sleep.

"Mom, the chaplain is here to visit you.  Is that okay?"

The patient groggily nods and I move to the bedside getting a chair as I go.  The daughter mummers that she has something to do and disappears into another part of the house.  Introducing myself I let the patient tell me who she is, what is important to her, letting her paint the picture that will become her.  She is active in her church, loves to travel, was married before but it was a disaster.  Her current husband is everything her first one never was.  She keeps going back to the past, to her first marriage.  Finally I say, "I have heard that you are afraid to die.  Is that true?"

"Well, I'm a little nervous about it.  I'm not sure why.  I don't want to leave my family but I know they'll be okay."

"You keep mentioning your first marriage.  Let me ask, have you forgiven your first husband for all that happened between you?"

"I know whenever I think of him and that time of our lives, I get angry all over again," she says, relating yet another horror story of their relationship.

"Do you think that God, in His great love for you, brought you your current husband to show you that He loves you and wants to give you His best?  That He knows your first marriage was awful and He gave you His best --the spouse you have now-- for this time of your life?"

"Maybe, I never thought of it like that."

"Is it possible that the reason you're afraid of dying is because you have this anger against your first husband and you know because you are so involved in your church, that God can't fully forgive you until you let go of that anger and unforgivness?"

She is quiet for a long time.  "I need to work on letting go of that anger.  I need to work on forgiving him."

"Well, I think that unforgiveness doesn't hurt the person we don't forgive.  Unforgivness hurts us.  We carry it with us and it's a weight, a burden that brings us down."

"I need to work on this."  She says, "I've never realized I was holding onto this."

We talk a few more minutes and we pray together.  I thank her for allowing me to visit and walk out with her daughter who has reappeared.  I share with her that her mom is working on forgiving her dad.  The daughter is surprised at that. "I thought she'd done that years ago" she comments.  I give her my card and drive away.

I call the SW saying, "Once she has worked through her anger and forgiven him, I think she'll be okay and die in peace."  Later the patients RN calls to tell me the patient is working on forgiving and thanks me for working miracles. 

Today, I got the word, she had died.  I guess her work was done.

Father, I know I didn't work any miracles in this women's life but I also know that You allowed me to be a vessel pouring out Your love and grace to her.  Thank you for giving me the words to say that opened Your child's heart to the thoughts of forgiveness.  Remind me always to keep short accounts with the people who come into my life and with you!  Let me not hold onto my anger and ask for and receive forgiveness quickly.  Amen.

"Rejoice with those who rejoice [sharing others' joy], and weep with those who weep [sharing others' grief]."  Romans 12:15 (TAB)

They had declined the chaplain at the time of admission.  It was not unusual for families from this particular denomination to decline hospice spiritual care.  The preference is to receive their pastoral care from their own Pastor, a desire I applaud.

I was leaving a death, heading home, for coffee and doughnuts, and sleep when I got the call.  I pull off the freeway, look up the address and type the numbers into the GPS.  I thank God for whoever invented the GPS as I make the U-turn and head south. 

About 20 minutes away I get the second call from the RN, "Look, the family said you don't have to come.  They don't really want you here and they said they don't need you." 

Interesting, what a thought -- visions of coffee, doughnuts and bed dance in my head -- a death I don't have to attend.  "So, you are going to stay and take care of the paperwork?" I ask already tasting the coffee. 

"What? No, what do you mean?" 

"Well, we stay with the family until the funeral home arrives and get the paperwork completed for the family." I explain, "Are you going to stay until the funeral home gets there?"

"What? No! I had no idea that's what you did." the RN exclaims. 

"Then I'm on my way," I state.  "I'll sit in the car and wait if the family doesn't want me inside but one of us has to stay."  I banish the thought of coffee and take a quick look at the GPS.

I arrive at the patients home and knock on the door.  I am met by the patients son-in-law who escorts me to the dining room.  The RN is at the dining room table completing her portion of the paperwork.  Looking up she greets me introducing me to the patients daughter and son-in-law.  Beyond the dining room I see family members quietly crying.  The RN finishes, gives me the paperwork and fills me in, "The funeral home has been called and is on the way.  They should be here in an hour or so.  Here's the number if you need to call them."  Turning she gives the family her condolences and departs.

I stand uncomfortably at the dining room table.  No one speaks to me, no one looks at me.  Finally the patients son-in-law comes over and suggests I sit down, his wife joins us offering me a cup of coffee.  We talk quietly among ourselves.  I ask open ended questions that will help the family begin the grieving process.  Questions about the patients life, his likes or dislikes, their memories of him, and on and on.  While we are talking I ask about the patients spouse and am told she does not speak English.  The family (daughters, aunts, uncles, grandchildren) gathers.  They hold each other as they cry.  I explain what is going to happen when the funeral home arrives.  At this point the reality of death begins to settle in like snow on a hill it covers their hearts. 

"Many people find it very difficult to see their loved one removed from the home." I say, "I suggest that when they come in the family move to another part of the house, maybe the kitchen, so they won't have to be further upset by seeing him removed."  The son-in-law boasts that he is a member of a health care group and will be fine.  His wife looks queasy.  I affirm the man but remind him not everyone in the family has had his level of experience and remake my suggestion.  Something in what I say or the way I re frame my thought hits him and he agrees that it might be best if they don't see the patient on a gurney, covered and leaving the home.  He moves into the living room and suggests to the recently widowed spouse and her family that they may want to consider not being present at the time of the removal.  Observing, I'm not sure what decision is made if any by the family.  The man returns and we continue our previous conversation.  This is a preamble to the grieving process.  This is the time that grief can become healthy or unhealthy.  This is the beginning of the new normal for this family.  A normal without their loved one with them.

When the funeral home arrives, they introduce themselves to me and I in turn introduce them to the family.  We take care of the minimal bit of paperwork there is left: name, social security number, next of kin, date of birth, doctors name.   I have already explained to the family that the funeral home will contact them later in the day requesting an appointment to go over the details of the funeral service.  I take the funeral directors into the room where the patient is waiting.  They leave to get the gurney and I go out to the family to tell them now would be a good time to have a final prayer, a final good-bye and then go to another part of the house. 

The patients wife and daughters go into kitchen.  The recently widowed stands at the breakfast bar and begins to weep.  For whatever reason, I move into the kitchen and stand next to her daughters who are behind her with their hands on her back, supporting, comforting.  The girls move into the other room to pray as a family for their father but their mother is rooted to this place, her grief holds her captive.  I stand there with my hand at her back, supporting, comforting.  Quietly, she turns into my arms and sobs, heart-breaking, gut wrenching sobs.  I hold her, making soothing noises and lead her to a chair where she sobs into my chest.  I say nothing.  There is nothing to say.  The man she has lived with for over half her life is gone.  I am reminded that she is my age, that it could be me weeping in a strangers arms.  I recognize her pain as my own.  Finally she is spent and clutching my forearms pushes herself from me saying, "thank you, thank you."  I smile, murmur something as her daughters return to comfort their grieving mother, walking to the room to assist the funeral directors.

In the room the son-in-law stands guard at the door as I and the two funeral directors move as quickly, respectfully, and quietly as we can to move the patient onto the gurney and out of the house.  As we leave the house, I again express my condolences to the family, gathering my papers, I go to my car.

On the fifty mile drive home, I realize that this is the quietest death I've been on.  The family didn't really want to interact with me, it was only common courtesy that got me in the door; but if I hadn't have been there. . .well. . .but I was.

Lord, thank you for the reminder that even when we are not wanted, we are able to be a vessel for your love.  Thank you for the reminder that words don't solve every problem or ease every hurt.  Sometimes it's enough to just be there -- in whatever form that may take.  Lord please be with this family as they adjust to their new normal, their new life without their loved one.  Most of all Lord, thank you for letting me be the one who was there.  Amen.

"Do not let your hearts be troubled (distressed, agitated). You believe in and adhere to and trust in and rely on God; believe in and adhere to and trust in and rely also on Me.  In My Father’s house there are many dwelling places (homes). If it were not so, I would have told you; for I am going away to prepare a place for you.   And when (if) I go and make ready a place for you, I will come back again and will take you to Myself, that where I am you may be also.  And [to the place] where I am going, you know the way.  Thomas said to Him, Lord, we do not know where You are going, so how can we know the way?  Jesus said to him, I am the Way and the Truth and the Life; no one comes to the Father except by (through) Me." John 14:1-7 (TAB)

"Sunny, you need to go see him now," the SW said. 

Whenever I hear the words you need to, I find myself asking the next question. . .why.  In some cases I really do need to see the patient now but more often it turns out that the "snapshot" the SW, RN, or some other team member has taken is not the complete picture.  By the time I get the message that I need to (fill in the blank here) and see the patient usually the reason I needed to in the first place is resolved.  I sighed, looked at my schedule (which is the biggest piece of fiction I've ever written), and asked, "Really, what's happening with him?" 

"Well, he wants to know where he's going to go when he dies," she said, "not the graveyard but where he's going to end up, you know."  She gave me a look that seemed to indicate she too wanted me to tell her where he is going to go when he dies and then repeated the original appeal, "you need to go see him." 

"You do realize I don't know where he's going when he dies, right?" I ask making a mental note to never make a schedule again.  She nods and I head for the door thanking the Lord that he lives 40 minutes away and I'll have plenty of time for prayer and reflection as I go to answer the patients question.  In the midst of my prayers (more like cries for help!) I review what I know about the patient: he didn't have a close family and left home at an early age, the family he was searching for he found in his motorcycle club, having no where to go a young woman and her live-in took him into their home as his disease progressed.  He was anxious and fearful -- avoiding the medical bed at all costs because he was afraid if he actually slept in the bed he would die, he spent all his time pacing or in the recliner in front of the TV.  "Lord," I prayed, "help me to say the right words to bring him peace."

"Thank you for coming," the caregiver said as she opened the door.  "I'll step out and give you some privacy."  "No problem," I replied, "you can stay," thinking she might be a good reinforcement for me.  The patient was pacing around the small room with a long oxygen hose trailing behind him, winding and unwinding as he paced.

Turning quickly he barked, "Where am I going to go when I die!?" walking to the window he pointed out and said, "and I don't mean across the street either."  Not being able to see where he pointed I paused, "it's a cemetery" the caregiver whispered.  "Yeah," he said, "I know everyone ends up in a cemetery or something but I want to know where I'll go when I die."  Finding a peace I didn't know I possessed, the peace of God that passes all understanding, I calmly replied, "Where do you want to go?"  He stopped short, turned and looked at me as if I'd lost my mind.  "I can't tell you where you are going to go.  I don't know that, only God can look at a man's heart.  Where do you want to go?"

"What do you mean?  You don't know where I'm going?" he asked, mystified.  "I mean that everyone goes on their own spiritual journey and has their own belief system.  My belief system teaches certain things that determine where a person goes after they die but not everyone agrees with what I believe.  Let's talk about what you believe and where you think you will go when you die." 

So we spent the afternoon talking, discussing, exploring the patients belief system.  He asked me about my beliefs and why I believed as I did then he queried his caregiver.  As we shared I could see him beginning to relax, beginning to consider what he believed and ask himself why he believed that.  After a time, we prayed together and I promised to return as soon as possible so we could continue this part of our faith journey together. 

The caregiver thanked me for coming so quickly as did the patient.  I reported to the SW that the visit had been fruitful and when I had left the patient he appeared less agitated.  I wish I could say that all of our visits were as successful but over time the patient again became fearful and anxious.  Faith is not easy to grasp when you have never been given a frame of reference and you are busy doing the work of dying. 

The patient died fighting death in the hospital bed he dreaded.  I don't know where he went when he died but I know what I hope and believe.

Lord, thank you for humbling me, reminding me that only You can read the heart of a man.  Only You can tell us where we will go when we die.  Thank you for reminding me that what I believe is only one of many beliefs in this world.  Thank you for reminding me that sometimes the need to's in my life really are need to's and when they aren't, I still need to (fill in the blank).  Mostly Lord, forgive me for not being a better chaplain.  I wanted to bring Your peace to him and while I may have brought peace to him, he never received it.  Please teach me how to minister to Your children better.  Amen.

"A happy heart is good medicine and a cheerful mind works healing, but a broken spirit dries up the bones."  Proverbs 17:22 (TAB)

It was one of those days. . .one of those lazy, hazy spring Texas days.  The kind of day that was just warm enough to make you want to take a nap if you sat still too long. . .the kind of day when you opened the windows and let out the winter smells enticing the spring inside. . .the dust particles were dancing on sunbeams and the occasional robin would chortle a tune as we set inside. . .

I had visited her many times over the months.  Our relationship had grown from wary to friendly.  Often we just talked about our lives, thoughts, people we loved, people we didn't.  Often we would read the scripture and pray.  But today all conversation had petered out like a road going into the woods. . .it became a trail. . .and then just forest with the odd word here and there. . .we were

"I'm bored." she declared with decided emphasis on the bored part.  "Bored?" Do I bore you?"  "No.  I'm just bored."  With a sigh I looked at the spring sunshine, filtered with winter breezes but promising a hot Texas summer and admitted, "me, too."  We looked at each other and giggled.  So, what do we do next, I wondered. . .as I was pitching ideas to break the doldrums, she had already formulated a plan.

The house was a small one and her husband, in an effort to meet her needs had placed his recliner in such a way that he had a clear sight line to her and the TV.  As he was hard of hearing, he had put a wireless doorbell button on her over the bed table (OBT) with the ringer next to his recliner.  Thus he could sit in comfort in his recliner and read the paper or watch TV while keeping a semi-eagle eye on her.  If he was in the kitchen or had the TV on so loud he couldn't hear it, she had to only ring the doorbell and he would respond as quickly as his 80+ year old body would let him.  Needless to say, she also had a clear line of sight to him as well.

"Watch this," she said, pressing the doorbell button.  In he came, "what do you need, honey?"  "Could I have a glass of water?" she asked innocently.  I looked at the table, observing a full glass of ice water waiting to be tasted but he obediently went off to get her a fresh glass of ice water.  Waiting until he had returned to his recliner and began to read the paper, she again pushed the button.  He came in, and she requested a cracker.  As he left, I began to see the light of impishness glow in her eyes and a smile on her lips.  Dutifully he brought the crackers and then made his way back to his chair (at this point it could no longer be called a recliner).  She pushed the button, like a jack in the box he jumped up, fulfilled her silly request and went back to begin the game again.  As the afternoon wore on, we began to laugh and giggle at being so silly.  I took my turn at pressing the button and would end up saying, "oh, my! I didn't mean to press that button, I'm so sorry." Or, "I forgot what she said she wanted, what was it you said you needed?" To which she would "forget" what it was she had never requested.  No longer bored the afternoon shadows lengthened and it was time for me to leave.  We had spent the afternoon giggling like schoolgirls while wearing out the dear caregiver.

As I left, I apologized to him for putting him through it.  I felt bad that we had tired him just for our own amusement.  He placed his arm around me and looked into my face, "Do you know how long it's been since I've heard my wife laugh?" he asked.  I shook my head.  "It was worth every moment to see a smile on her face and hear her laugh again.  It was worth every ache and pain.  You keep coming and making my wife laugh."

Dear Lord, help me to remember that even when we are facing death, we need to laugh, to giggle, to enjoy a sense of the ridiculous.  Not just for the sake of patient but for the heart of the person who is losing the one he/she loves.  Remind me that laughter is a medicine just as much as any pill or lotion or patch and help me to bring a smile or giggle to my patients when they need it.  Amen.

"Little children, you are of God [you belong to Him] and have [already] defeated and overcome them [the agents of the antichrist], because He Who lives in you is greater (mightier) than he who is in the world." I John 4:4 (TAB)

"I don't know what's wrong.  He's not sleeping and I've given him enough meds to take out an elephant." the Registered Nurse (RN) said during team.

(Team is the interdisciplinary team - doctors, nurses, social workers, chaplains, bereavement and volunteer coordinators - the IDT or IDG - that meets once a week and discusses each patient and each patients plan of care.  Each discipline visits the patient and takes a "snapshot" of the patient at that time, on that day of that particular visit.  At team, the "snapshots" are put together and the team gets a panoramic view of the patient, medical and psycho/social needs, and family dynamics.  All of these things affect total patient care.) 

"I don't know what to do next.  I guess I can give him more meds but don't think they are going to help.  He's trying to avoid the bed altogether."  Her voice showed the frustration she felt as a professional unable to help her patient.  "What is he telling you?" the Director of Nurses (DON)asked.  Taking a deep breath the RN sighed, obviously reluctant to share what the patient said.  "He says the devil sits on the edge of his bed and talks to him as he's trying to go to sleep.  I guess he thinks he's going to hell or something." 

The room burst into sound as everyone began to comment.  The devil is, after all, big news.  We don't discuss him everyday in or out of IDT!  "The devil, wow!" "Wonder what he's worried about."  "No wonder the meds aren't doing it, he sounds scared."  On and on the comments went -- voices weaving themselves in and out of at least a dozen conversations.  I listened with one ear while my mind kaleidoscopes from one thought to the next. . .the devil, that's interesting. . .the devil, really? maybe it's a demon and not THE DEVIL. . .I've visited this man regularly for months and he's never mentioned this to me before, why is this just coming up now?. . .wonder how long before someone thinks this is a job for the chaplain?. . .how small can I become?. . .am I invisible yet?. . .are you crazy, we're talking about something serious, it's spiritual warfare and the devil she said. . .as my mind is moving from one touchstone to the next, I hear the RN say, "I'm not sure if I even believe in the devil but I don't know what more I can do for this man."  In response one of the Social Workers (SW) says, "It really doesn't matter what you or I believe, this is about him and obviously he believes it.  This doesn't sound like a medical problem to me.  It sounds spiritual and I think the Chaplain should go out for a visit."  With that, the room becomes quiet and 30+ pairs of eyes turn to me.  Well, I guess I'm not invisible yet I think and clear my throat.  "Yes, of course, I'll visit the patient and see what's going on with him.  I'll report back to the team if there needs to be any change in his plan of care."  Having settled the matter to the satisfaction of all, we move on to the next patient on the list.

Driving to the patients home, I am frantically trying to come to terms with the seriousness of the conversation I would be having with the patient.  I can feel myself beginning to panic -- the sense of inadequacy, the fear of saying the wrong thing and making the situation worse (if possible), the thought that I was taking on the devil -- my heart is in my throat and I realize I'm afraid.  Yes, afraid and wondering what in the world was I thinking to become a chaplain -- heavens, I'm not cut out for this job, anyone can see that!!  Especially now.  Suddenly there is an overwhelming sense of peace blanketing me as I drive and a still small voice speaks to my heart, "it's not about you, Sunny, it's about the patient.  Stop focusing on yourself and focus on him, his fear, his needs, his hurts and inadequacies.  Remember, greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world."  As the voice speaks, my pounding heart calms and the focus of my prayers change. I remind myself of the Scripture that tells us to not be afraid to speak for the Holy Spirit will give us the words we need at the right time.  I soak in the peace surrounding me and prepare myself to be a vessel the Lord can use.

Taking a deep breath, I enter the patients home.  As with most of our visits, we begin catching up with each other socially before moving into the purpose of this particular jaunt.  "I hear you are having trouble sleeping," I comment, waiting for the patient to tell me what's happening.  "Yes, well, just sometimes," he responds.  "Can you tell me about it?"  "I really don't know what to tell," sheepishly answers.  "I understand that you see the devil on your bed when you are trying to go to sleep?" I open the door for the skeleton to peak out of the closet.  "Oh, yes," he sighs and the story pours out of him, partly told in guilt, partly in fear, partly in remorse. 

As we talk I learn that the patient had served in the war and he is worried that the God who said 'thou shalt not kill' will hold this against him.  As understanding dawns on me, we talk about obedience to those in authority over us, how God forgives us if we repent, that the devil is an enemy who wants to steal, kill and destroy us -- keeping us from God and His love for us, the conversation ends with the confession that the patient has never killed anyone to his knowledge but he's not sure that he didn't either, we end with prayer and the reminder that God loves us.  That night, the patient sleeps and sleeps well. 

I wish I could say the patient never saw the devil on his bed again. . .guilt and fear can return if we don't continually renew our minds and line ourselves up with God's word.  However, from this point on my visits with the patient took a deeper turn.  As for me, I learned what a mighty God I serve!

Lord, teach me to remember that it's truly not about me -- it's about You ministering through me.  It's about You living BIG in me.  It's about standing in faith and knowing greater is He who is in me than he that is in the world.  Remind me to always focus on the patient and their needs and walk in love and not fear.  Thank you for filling my mouth with the right words to minister to this man's fear.  Thank you for the assurance that You will always speak through me, use me, teach me when I set myself to seek your face.  Amen.
 

"Be not rash with your mouth, and let not your heart be hasty to utter a word before God.  For God is in heaven, and you are on earth; therefore, let your words be few."  Ecclesiastes 5: 2 (TAB)

I passed him on road which wasn't unusual.  After months of making weekly visits, we would often pass and wave.  He on the way to the barber shop or the grocery store or the local coffee shop where the world problems would be discussed, solved and discussed again.  Me on the way to his home to visit his dying wife.

Crossing the threshold of the bedroom, she was lying flat on her back in bed, she said, "Beautiful."  I stopped and blinked, hard, slow, and turned.  Beautiful?  Not a description of me.  Obviously, someone was standing behind me.  No, no one there.  "Beautiful" she said again with a sense of awe in her voice.  My eyes made a quick tour of the room.  Small and cluttered I'd term it 'homey' not beautiful.  Realizing she was looking at the ceiling, I looked up.  It was a drop ceiling that had the stains of 50+ years of weather and living.  Nothing beautiful there either. 

Entering the room, she again said, "It's beautiful, just so beautiful."  Okay, got that. I'm not sure what it is, but I know whatever it is is beautiful.  "What's beautiful?" I ask.  "Don't you see it?" she queries.  "It's so beautiful."  "No, I don't see what you see." I tell her, "Can you tell me what is beautiful?"  "Heaven, heaven is so beautiful."  Now, I look at the ceiling in earnest, willing myself to see what she is seeing. . .heaven, we have heaven in this 10x10 bedroom!?  I want to see it too!!!  Where is it?  What exactly is she seeing?  I squint.  Nothing.  "What does it look like?  What do you see?"  There is a tremor of excitement in my voice.  "Oh, I can't describe it, it's just too. . ." that's right, it's beautiful! 

Exasperated at myself, I ask, "Do you see Jesus?"  "Oh, yes."  "What does He look like?  What is He doing?"  "Oh, He's beautiful.  Just beautiful. There is so much light."  And then as quickly as the veil was opened, it closed. 

I won't lie, I felt somewhat deflated, maybe even cheated a little.  Why did she get to see into the heavenlies and not me???  I also felt a little concern or maybe guilt.  Was my pressing for answers the reason the door closed to her?  I knew her faith and love for the Lord and didn't want to be an obstacle between them but a stepping stone to Him.  Yet, in spite of my thoughts and feelings, she continued to have a euphoria and awe in her voice.  Heaven is real and she knew where she would be one day.  There was great peace in that knowledge.  And great joy.

Lord, please help me to remember that you are with us always.  That the veil between life and death is thin and permeable, easily transversed.  Remind me that heaven is a beautiful place, a place to be desired and sought.  Help me be the stepping stone to you and the place you have prepared for them. Let me share the joy of knowing that heaven is real.  Amen.