My mother was dying of leukemia. My two older sisters, father,
and I had shared the last three weeks in the hospital room
with her. In two years, she had gone from a strong matriarch
to a helpless invalid.
For the last three days, she had been in a semi-conscious
state of moaning and lifelessness. She could no longer speak
through her dry, swollen lips. Her eyes had the blank void
of a moonless midnight.
On the night of the third day, I knew what I must do. I must
cease being the selfish, clinging son. I sped purposefully
to the chapel. There I gave God permission to take my mother.
I could no longer stand to see her suffer, so I prayed for
the permanent healing that only death can bring.
I returned to the room with a peaceful heart for I knew by
the next morning my mother would also be at peace. I had the
best night's sleep in weeks. The next morning, as the sun
broke through the window, I awoke. My first thoughts were,
"It's over". But then a noise, a stirring directed my attention
from the window to the bed. A small movement made me realize
that my mother was still alive. It was all I could do to keep
from screaming aloud, "God, how can You do this to me? I became
a selfless son, and gave You permission to end this, and You
still kept her in her misery." But before I could have exclaimed
this, I was shocked to see that there was more than just a
movement.
My mother rolled onto her side, and looked into the glare
of the newly risen sun. Then, as the sun made sparkling starbursts
in her eyes, she licked her parched lips, and said "Gee, it's
going to be a beautiful day today". Needless to say this got
our attention quickly. Being the youngest, and fastest, I
was first to her bedside. "Mom, it's me, Jerry, do you recognize
me"? "Of course I do Jerry", she replied.
We all took our turns talking to her. Other relatives came
and were able to talk to her, as she answered not in her old
voice, but rather in the voice of a child. The doctor's explanation
was that the brain stem was being destroyed, accounting for
the sudden change. It was a joyous day of laughing, and celebrating
life with our family. That night we all went to sleep peacefully.
The next morning, we were awaken to the stirring of angel's
wings, and my mother was finally healed of her suffering.
She had awakened to the Risen Son.
The next few days were hectic with funeral plans. It was only
after the funeral that I stopped to think of what had happened.
If God had answered my prayer, in my time, in my way, my final
memories of my mother would have been that of a helpless invalid,
with void eyes, lying motionless in a deathbed. Instead, God
answered my prayer in his time, in his omniscient way.
As a young man, Al was a skilled artist, a potter. He had
a wife and two fine sons. One night, his oldest son developed
a severe stomachache. Thinking it was only some common intestinal
disorder, neither Al nor his wife took the condition very
seriously. But the malady was actually acute appendicitis,
and the boy died suddenly that night.
Knowing the death could have been prevented if he had only
realized the seriousness of the situation, Al's emotional
health deteriorated under the enormous burden of his guilt.
To make matters worse his wife left him a short time later,
leaving him alone with his six-year-old younger son. The hurt
and pain of the two situations were more than Al could handle,
and he turned to alcohol to help him cope. In time Al became
an alcoholic.
As the alcoholism progressed, Al began to lose everything
he possessed - his home, his land, his art objects, everything.
Eventually Al died alone in a San Francisco motel room.
When I heard of Al's death, I reacted with the same disdain
the world shows for one who ends his life with nothing material
to show for it. "What a complete failure!" I thought. "What
a totally wasted life!
As time went by, I began to re-evaluate my earlier harsh judgment.
You see, I knew Al's now adult son, Ernie. He is one of the
kindest, most caring, most loving men I have ever known. I
watched Ernie with his children and saw the free flow of love
between them. I knew that kindness and caring had to come
from somewhere.
I hadn't heard Ernie talk much about his father. It is so
hard to defend an alcoholic. One day I worked up my courage
to ask him. "I'm really puzzled by something," I said. "I
know your father was basically the only one to raise you.
What on earth did he do that you became such a special person?"
Ernie sat quietly and reflected for a few moments. Then he
said, "From my earliest memories as a child until I left home
at 18, Al came into my room every night, gave me a kiss and
said, `I love you, son.'"
Tears came to my eyes as I realized what a fool I had been
to judge Al as a failure. He had not left any material possessions
behind. But he had been a kind loving father, and he left
behind one of the finest, most giving men I have ever known.
A story is told about a soldier who was finally coming home
after having fought in Vietnam. He called his parents from
San Francisco. "Mom and Dad, I'm coming home but, I've
got a favor to ask. I have a friend I'd like to bring with
me." "Sure," they replied, "we'd love
to meet him." "There's something you should know,"
the son continued, "he was hurt pretty badly in the fighting.
He stepped on a land mine and lost an arm and a leg. He has
nowhere else to go, and I want him to come live with us.
"I'm sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find somewhere
to live." "No, Mom and Dad, I want him to live with us." "Son,"
said the father, "you don't know what you're asking. Someone
with such a handicap would be a terrible burden on us. We
have our own lives to live, and we can't let something like
this interfere with our lives. I think you should just come
home and forget about this guy. He'll find a way to live on
his own."
At that point, the son hung up the phone. The parents heard
nothing more from him. A few days later, however, they received
a call from the San Francisco police. Their son had died after
falling from a building, they were told. The police believed
it was suicide. The grief-stricken parents flew to San Francisco
and were taken to the city morgue to identify the body of
their son. They recognized him but, to their horror they also
discovered something they didn't know. Their son had only
one arm and one leg.
The parents in this story are like many of us. We find it
easy to love those who are good-looking or fun to have around
but, we don't like people who inconvenience us or make us
feel uncomfortable. We would rather stay away from people
who aren't as healthy, beautiful, or smart as we are. Thankfully,
there's someone who won't treat us that way. Someone who loves
us with an unconditional love that welcomes us into the forever
family, regardless of how messed up we are.
Tonight, before you tuck yourself in for the night, say a
little prayer that God will give you the strength you need
to accept people as they are, and to help us all be more understanding
of those who are different from us! There's a miracle called
-Friendship- that dwells in the heart. You don't know how
it happens or when it gets started. But you know the special
lift it always brings and you realize that Friendship is one
of God's most precious gifts!
The website is so edifying and empowering. It cuts across to meet the
social, emotional, financial, relationship, physical and spiritual needs
of everyone. I am so blessed and encouraged by the words on it. The World
needs more of you with such excellent service provision.
Keep up the good work; your labour of love is not in vain.
As a young
man, Al was a skilled artist, a potter. He had a wife and two fine sons.
One night, his oldest son developed a severe stomach ache. Thinking it was
only some common intestinal disorder, neither Al nor his wife took the condition
seriously
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