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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