Category Archives: Disease and dying

I’m sure.

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Dad and Mom lived in four homes during 50 years of marriage: a newlywed bungalow, their bring-the-babies-home house, their larger place, and a downsized-ranch. Mom loved being a homemaker, and when Dad (13 years her senior) suggested a retirement community, she wouldn’t hear of it.

Later, when he died after only two weeks warning, Mom clung to their home like it was Dad himself. Being without him was heartbreaking, but it focused her attention on life after death like never before.

She told us about the night she was out watering her garden near midnight when she heard footsteps approaching. “Were you afraid?” I said.

“Actually I was hoping he had a gun and would do me in,” she said. “Then I’d get to be with your father.” She was only half joking.

Not long after that, Mom fell and broke her hip badly, requiring surgery. She had great confidence in the doctor, a family friend, but was secretly hoping the O.R. would be her launch pad to heaven. But the surgery went flawlessly, and Mary was there to tell her about it when she came out of the anesthetic.

Still groggy, Mom’s first word was, “Carl?”

“No,” Mary said. “It’s just me.”

Mom pulled the covers over her head and burst into tears, realizing she hadn’t ended up in heaven after all. Days later, well on the way to a full recovery she said, “I gave God a perfect chance to take me, and he passed it up.” (She lived 13 more years.)

Mom’s push toward heaven seemed extreme, but I admire two things about it: (1) her true love for Dad came through, and (2) her certainty of heaven was unshakeable. Day to day, hour to hour, a real heaven was on her mind, a specific place where her beloved had already gone.

Mom’s desire to be with Dad wasn’t her only heaven-themed longing. Her deepest craving was to run into the waiting arms of Jesus her Savior. She referenced that moment often and never doubted its authenticity. In 60 years as her daughter, I never heard a smidgen of uncertainty in her talk of one day living with Jesus.

Sometimes I find myself a little unsure. It isn’t exactly doubt, but it’s a serious wondering. How will it work when I move to the next world? The greeting we’ve heard some will get at heaven’s gate (well-done-good-and-faithful-servant) won’t apply to me. I love the Lord, but faithful servant? Not really. So, what are the other greeting possibilities? I wonder.

And what about the rush of guilt I’ll feel when I look into Jesus’ eyes? Or the regret that’ll sweep over me about my disobedience? What about my idle words? Time wasted? Bypassed opportunities? I wonder and wonder. How can it possibly go well?

But Mom? She never wondered. She was just plain sure, and that was delightfully refreshing.

“You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory.” (Psalm 73:24)

Dialogue in a Deli

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On Friday I drove the 90 miles from southwest Michigan to Chicago, back to a place I call “Nate’s hospital.” It’s the place where we learned he had terminal cancer, where we drove the long round trip 14 times for radiation treatments, and where we met Dr. Ross Abrams.

Dr. Abrams had the difficult job of delivering one piece of bad news after another to our family as Nate struggled through his 6 weeks of cancer. The doctor also positioned himself to be our soft place to fall after each new (and always bad) development. Somehow, in the 2½ years since those dark days, the doctor and I have found enough common ground to become friends.

The relationship is based on respect for one another, fleshed out in hour-long conversations that take place only once every few months. All of our meetings are at Nate’s hospital. This time as I arrived to connect with Dr. Abrams he said, “Let’s talk upstairs in the deli rather than in my office.”

As I followed him through a labyrinth of halls, everything suddenly looked familiar. And as we came to the deli, which was full of medical personnel eating breakfast in their scrubs and white coats, a Nate-memory swallowed me up. I’d sat in that place before on one of Nate’s most difficult cancer days, and the feelings of confronting a hopeless disease came rushing back.

Nate’s brother had accompanied us to radiation that day, after which Nate was scheduled for a full body bone scan, the kind that requires an injection of dye beforehand. Those three appointments (for the injection, the radiation, and the scan) were supposed to take 4 hours total, but a big delay between appointments #2 and #3 found us waiting two extra hours.

That’s when Nate, Ken, and I ended up in the deli, a beautiful facility well stocked with goodies. My memories of that visit are only of sadness, frustration, and a husband in pain. Unbeknownst to us that day, Nate wouldn’t live out the month.

So this last Friday when Dr. Abrams and I sat down at a deli table with our coffees, it was difficult to focus forward rather than back. We talked about the sloppy realities of birth and death, marveling at how these two events have much in common. We touched on life’s disappointments and the unwelcome challenges that come to us. And we agreed that many of these things are tests from God.

I am an evangelical Christian, and Dr. Abrams is an orthodox Jew. Each of us knows what the other believes, and we disagree on many of the religious basics. So why do we keep meeting? What’s the point of our conversations? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because I’m curious about his faith, and he’s curious about mine.

Whatever the reason, I have a hunch God is at the center of it.

“If someone asks about your Christian hope, always be ready to explain it. But do this in a gentle and respectful way.” (1 Peter 3:15-16)

Just Heavenly

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Since November of 2009 when death took Nate out of my daily life, I’ve missed him continually. His picture sits on my desk, and when I look at his smiling face, it’s natural to smile back. Of course we can’t communicate anymore, but I’m just practicing for the future when once again we will.

Heaven is real to me. I believe everything God says, and he says heaven is a specific place. I know Nate has gone there and one day I will, too. When I smile at Nate’s picture, part of my pleasure is in visualizing the togetherness heaven promises. But Nate isn’t the only one in my mental picture. Jesus is, too, supremely so.

I remember watching a video of Erwin Lutzer’s mother on her 103rd birthday. Her husband had passed away several years before, and she longed to go to her heavenly home, too. Someone asked if she was looking forward to being reunited with him. She smiled in acknowledgment but said, “I want to see Jesus.”

During the last 2½ years, I’ve received 9 books about heaven. One was inspired by the experiences of a 4 year old who seems to have briefly visited heaven during a surgery. Because I agreed with the title, “HEAVEN IS FOR REAL,” I was eager to read it. While trying to be mindful that the report was given by a young child, I enjoyed possibility-thinking as I read. What impressed me most was Colton’s attitude. It seemed easy for him to take in all he experienced, at face value. No skepticism. No yes-buts. Just of-courses, and why-nots!

The Bible tells us flat-out that we can learn from children, and Colton taught me, not so much about heaven as about accepting what God says about it without superimposing my own opinion over it. Children are pros at literal thinking so that what they hear is what they believe. Even Jesus pointed this out in his teachings. So maybe we ought to think about heaven like children do.

And what do they think? First and foremost, Jesus is there.

One of my own children, as young as Colton was, made a statement about heaven I’ve never forgotten. Little Louisa came to me, looking concerned. “You’re not going to heaven very soon, are you Mom?”

“No, probably not till I’m really old,” I said.

“Well, when I get to heaven, where should I look for you?” she said.

While thinking about what I should say, she came up with her own answer. “Just be standing next to Jesus. I know I’ll be able to find him real easy, and then I’ll find you, too!”

Colton, Louisa, and Mrs. Lutzer are 3 fine examples of how we’re to think about heaven: it’s a real place, we’ll go there someday, and Jesus will be waiting to greet those of us who believe in him.

Jesus said, “I am coming again to welcome you into my own home, so that you may be where I am.” (John 14:3)