Category Archives: Heaven

Ya don’t say….

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After being with Dad, Mom and Nate as their lives wound down, I’ve learned people on pain meds are not themselves. Trying to have a conversation with a heavily drugged person gives meaning to the word “hallucinogen.”

All of us wonder what we’ll say in our final days. Dad remained dignified, and Nate, who always had much to say, was accurate and gracious to the end.

But Mom? Absolutely goofy. Her colorful statements were so entertaining, we kept a log. She’d been a one-woman-show during her non-medicated life, and her words while drugged (for pain) stayed in line with her character.

Get ready to laugh.

  • Chewing on the hem of her hospital gown she said, “This tastes good, and I like the color. It’s also very nourishing.”
  • To a grandson: “Let’s play funeral. I’ll be the corpse. You be the soloist.”
  • To a sweet visitor: “I can’t wait to get rid of you.”
  • “The most important thing is my conversation with God. He talks out of the Bible, and I talk back.”
  • To me: “Let’s both get in the same bed and start a riot about same sex marriage.”
  • It’d be nice to see my apartment again, but I guess I’d rather go to heaven. I’ll wave down at you.”
  • Looking at our wrinkles: “Do I have strings all up and down my face? Because both Mary and Margaret do.”
  • To a nurse removing her dinner: “Save that food tray. When I’m in heaven, if the Lord decides not to return to Earth, I’ll have something to feed him.”
  • “Maybe I’ll go to bed now.” We said, “You’re already in bed.” Then she said, “Boy, that was easy.”
  • Son Tom asked: “How do you feel?” She said, “With my hands. How do you feel?”
  • After restlessly working both legs out from under the sheets, she began laughing hysterically. We said, “What’s so funny?” She sputtered, “My beautiful legs!”
  • To me: “I wish you a Happy New Year and that you’ll get prettier.”
  • “If I can do anything for you, let me know. I can only do things in my miserable way, but I am the way, the truth and the life.”
  • “It’s nice when parents are just starting out and know that ‘Jesus loves their little children.’ That helps when they don’t know anything.”
  • “Maybe I should change my mind about going to heaven tonight. There’s lots of happy people here, too.”
  • “I served 10 salmon. Put the rest over there. It’s brain food. It’s ok, but not great.”
  • “When I die, just drown the [pet] bird and throw him in the toilet.”
  • Pushing an invisible item around the end of the bed with her foot: “I’m trying to get that muffin over into the corner.”
  • A friend called and said, “Who’s there with you?” She said, “Just Mary and Margaret, if you call them visitors. It’s more like a zoo.”
  • “Today I’m better. I have happiness running out of my lips.”
  • To a visitor: “I’m going to throw up any minute…on you.”
  • Fingering her hospital gown: “I’m going to send this to Joyce. She likes blue and can wallpaper a room with it.”
  • “If I ever wrote a book, it would be about the magnificent mercy of God.”

These are just a few from 26 pages of Mom’s colorful statements. She spoke often of her approaching death but never with uncertainty or fear. One of her last statements while “under the influence” was, “Some stumble, some fall, but if we love Jesus Christ, we all eventually get home.”

She got home 19 days later… but forgot to take her salmon.

“We would rather be away from these earthly bodies, for then we will be at home with the Lord.” (2 Corinthians 5:8)

Is that you?

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Ever since the Easter service this morning, I’ve been thinking about the pastor’s sermon.  We walked with two of Jesus’ disciples on their 7 mile journey to Emmaus, seeing their sadness and hearing their disappointment about the crucifixion. Having listened to (and watched) Jesus teach, they knew what he looked like. Yet when he walked next to them and even conversed with them, they had no inkling it was him.

We also read that Mary didn’t recognize him, either, mistaking him for someone else. She questioned him about the empty tomb, probably focusing on his face to get the answer. It’s astounding she didn’t recognize her very good friend.

Then there’s the puzzling incident when Jesus suddenly appeared among his 11 remaining disciples inside a home. This time it wasn’t just a matter of not recognizing him. They were also terrified, thinking he was a ghost. He had to play show ‘n tell with them to convince them it was really him. When they still weren’t sure, he proved he wasn’t a ghost by eating some fish.

As we shadow the risen Jesus from the time he left the tomb until he ascended to heaven, these curious responses of non-recognition seem to be the norm. The only logical conclusion is to assume he didn’t look “like himself.” We know he had a glorified body but don’t know exactly what that means. We do know he was able to walk through walls and transport himself quickly from one geographical place to another.

We also know his countless severe wounds from lashings, a crown of thorns, nails and an abdominal stabbing had completely healed in less than three days. But what was it that made recognition happen? When did they “get it?”

The two men in Emmaus identified Jesus at the dinner table. It was his way of saying grace and breaking bread that caused them to realize, “It’s him!” For Mary it was his voice. And for the 11, it was becoming convinced he wasn’t a ghost.

In other words, his glorified self was more about who he was than what he looked like.

In this world we often act as if appearances are what count. The risen Jesus taught us, however, that the most important thing is what’s inside.

And that goes for all eternity.

“Our dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die; our mortal bodies must be transformed into immortal bodies. Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled: ‘Death is swallowed up in victory’.” (1 Corinthians 15:53-54)

 

A Good Friday Surprise

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Spring is inching its way into our neighborhood. After a winter that’s lasted too long, the forsythia, daffodils and blue-bells are a treat. Ground covers are blooming, and once in a while we stay above the 30’s overnight.

This morning as Jack and I started our walk, the strangest thing happened. Half-a-block from home we saw a sad-looking daffodil lying on the road, dusted with dirt. The stem had been neatly cut at an angle, but there it lay without explanation.

I stepped over it, and we continued on. Fifty yards further we saw another one… and another… and finally several. The only possibility I could imagine was a woman setting her flower vase on the car roof for a minute, then forgetting it was there as she drove away.

Jack and I pursued our walk, but at the farthest point from home, it began to pour. We picked up the pace, and I thought of the mysterious daffodils now lying in the mud. Deciding to rescue them, we walked past the house, retracing our steps to retrieve the flowers.

Mentally creating an Easter bouquet, I also snapped a piece of evergreen growing near the road to frame the daffodils. After gently swishing everything in a bowl of water and putting them in a crystal vase, they were an eye-catching display.

Tonight as I studied my pretty bouquet, God brought an old memory to mind. Mary and I were little girls and Mom was teaching us to sew. “We’ll make sachets for your drawers,” she said. “Your underwear will smell fresh, just like the outdoors!”

She took us out and directed us to the same type of evergreen I’d put with my daffodils this morning. “Pick this kind,” she’d said. “It smells best.” She’d pinched a small sprig between her fingers, putting it under our noses to prove her point.

We stripped our branches until all we had were piles of green “needles”. The room filled with a woodsy aroma, and I still have the pine sachet I made that day, sewn with a nine-year-old’s crude stitching.

Tonight God revealed an important Good Friday lesson having to do with that evergreen. In order for us to be included in heaven’s promise, Jesus needed to be crushed, much like Mom squeezed that sprig years ago to release its good scent. As excruciating as it was for the Father to turn away from his suffering Son, it was the only way we could have experienced salvation. His death became a sweet-smelling sacrifice to the Father.

As I looked in amazement at my bouquet, the Lord whispered something else. “Although you stepped over the dirty daffodils and picked them up only as an afterthought, I’ve never stepped over a dirty sinner. None of them, including you, will ever be an afterthought to me. You are front-and-center.

And that’s why I died for you.

“He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities. Christ… has loved us and given Himself for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling aroma.” (Isaiah 53:5, Ephesians 5:2)