I’ve spent most of today sitting and watching my Mom breathe. It will likely be pretty much the last thing she’ll do on earth. Her eyes are closed and her hand is warm. She’s beautiful. Her sleep is sometimes interrupted by pain, made evident by a grimace or a quiet moan. When that happens, we push a button and medicine is delivered in the most direct way possible. Seconds pass and she’s back to a gentle sleep. It’s the same sleeping face I remember seeing when I was a scared four year old, laying — cowering, really — next to her while a thunderstorm rumbled through. I knew I was safe because she seemed okay with the whole thing, mumbling that it was okay and that I could go back to sleep. I laid next to her and felt safe. She was asleep. Soon, so was I.
I wish I could say I felt the same kind of safety and comfort now. I can’t. Not yet, at least.
Attention Christians: Yes. Jesus makes it okay. But Jesus still wept when Lazarus died. Believe me, I know the Max Lucado lines. I’ve delivered them and have heard even more. Platitudes didn’t work on a weeping Savior and they don’t work that well on me right now. It’s okay to dwell in the pain, so don’t feel like I need to be talked out of it, Christian style. Let me recommend that you instead take a moment to somehow thank your mom for something she did for you when you were little. Just a little Pastoral advice, I suppose.
Thanks for praying for me and my family right now. Your support is much appreciated. Soon, Mom will be with Jesus, the same One who wept with those who wept and now reigns over all, conquering sin and removing the sting of death.