Stepping Into Eternity…

I have not come very close to death in my life. About eight years ago my great-grandmother, who was living with my grandparents (who live next door to me), passed away. I spent time with her during her last days, but I don’t remember spending a lot of time with her.

I’ve been to various funerals and have stood in front of caskets, looking at the “person who isn’t there.” It is hard not to think of eternity when you are standing in front of the casket of someone you knew who has since passed away.

About a year ago my brother and his wife – who had been praying for a child for the five years they had been married – had a little girl. She was born “code blue” and spent several days in the NICU before Jesus called her home. I supported them as best as possible: they didn’t need a lot of support because of other family members, but I was able to take care of some work projects for my brother so he wouldn’t have to worry about work during those days, I did some behind-the-scenes arranging for prayer support, and I also did a photo shoot for them. Going through the loss of my niece was probably the hardest thing I had faced in my life, and was the closest experience I had had with death – until just recently week.

While my friend at the nursing home (see the previous post) was very sick on February 8th, his health stabilized and he was doing better for another week. But he took another turn for the worse the next Friday evening.

I had stopped by that Friday around lunch time and found his Hospice nurse with him – she was writing reports. When I came into the room he opened his eyes, smiled at me, and tried to reach to shake my hand (my friend has very little control of his muscles, likely caused by a lifetime of alcohol abuse). I reached for his hand and shook it; it was the last time we would shake hands (even though I would hold his hand quite a bit over the next few days).

He had stabilized (somewhat) by Saturday.

When I visited him on Saturday I could tell the end was near. Even though he was becoming unresponsive, he was still stir anytime I leaned over his bed, gripped his hand, and prayed for him.

I didn’t want him to die alone.

He had estranged his two children, although one of them did try to have a relationship with him, and visited him a number of times as he was nearing death. His other child never came to say goodbye.

And that left only me. I spent a number of hours with him Saturday night (until late), occasionally reading scripture to him, praying for him, and holding his hand. His breathing was stable by midnight on Saturday, so I went home to get some rest.

Early Sunday morning I went back to the nursing home, and stayed there until Monday morning at 2:00 a.m. Occasionally I would read Scripture to him and pray for him. As time passed his breathing became more shallow, but it stabilized and it appeared he was doing rather well by the time I left at 2:00 a.m. on Monday morning to go home for some rest.

The nursing home called me at 3:30 a.m. to say that he had passed away.

Was he waiting until I left so that he could die alone? I don’t know.

Was he receiving strength from my being with him? I don’t know.

I wanted him to know that I loved him as a friend, whether he chose to accept the Lord Jesus as his Savior, or whether he chose to reject Jesus.

I have absolute peace knowing that I shared with him the plan of salvation, and I believe he clearly understood what Jesus did for him.

The last time I had visited with him while he was still fully able to have a conversation was about a month ago – in the hospital. I shared with him the story of the thief on the cross, and wanted to make sure he knew that it is never too late to repent of his sins and trust in Jesus. A simple thing to do, but I knew it would require him acknowledging a life of sin and rebellion against God – something that would be hard and would require the involvement of the Holy Spirit in his heart. I had left him with this verse: John 6:37 “… and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.” I wanted him to know that when he was willing to lay everything done and come to Jesus, Jesus would accept him.

It was somewhat hard for me – knowing that he passed away alone. And yet I know that God could have arranged things differently…

While I won’t know until I step into eternity whether or not my friend ever was born again, I do know that the Lord did a work in that man’s heart over the year that I knew him. And I am grateful to the Lord for the opportunity he gave me to interact with this man – and I have missed him more than I thought I would.

I hope and pray that this experience renews my zeal to be sharing with others at the nursing home – and everywhere. Time is short. People are dying.