Читать книгу House Calls with Jesus - Jude Lee - Страница 10

More Time

Four dead in ten days. Half are prepared.

Half are not.

We want to think there is more time.

More time.

He is thin, very thin, with a face contorting into tears upon hearing my words:

I am glad God kept you alive because I had to see you one more time.

He is unaccustomed to such words. All his life, he has chosen the path of being a loner. No deep relationships except a very few. He has never married. He says he can do with or without people. He says there is no one that really matters to him. On uttering these words, his face strains desperately to contain his feelings. When asked, he says, it is nothing. But it matters I say gently and the tears well up again. The long silence that follows is not to be interrupted. He quietly gathers himself, then thanks me for coming. In the same way, he refuses my offer to pray for him, but he says it is okay that I pray for him in my car.

So thin, so haggard, so weary: lung cancer with metastasis to the brain and bone; a diagnosis given less than two months ago. He has been ill a long time, turning from being tall and thin to cachectically thin, a concentration camp thinness that is painful to see. His refusal to see a doctor, to have anything done, speaks of a subliminal suicide desire. His friend called in hopes we could convince him to get help.

On that first visit, he sat in the big easy chair, sunk deep in its soft bowels, his legs bent, long, skeletal before him. Cigarettes to his left, TV on, the curtains drawn, the room dark and smoky. He was hesitant to let me into his room. It was a rocky start when he nervously tapped a cigarette and shakily lifted it to his mouth.

Please, please would you not smoke now?

He stopped cigarette mid-air and looked, stunned that after he had already been asked and turned off his TV, now this? No smoking in his own space at this time? Incredible. “What do you think you are?” his face said. His silence was cold, distant. Then he shrugged and placed the cigarette in the ashtray.

It, the shrug, would become his most often said comment. Shrugging off sorrow, worry, faith, relationships, struggle. But deep down inside, it would eat at him much like this cancer was eating, eating, eating him. His only acquiesced concern was pain, physical pain. The rest of his heart was locked away under years of shrugging and silent hurting. He shared little of his past. As a young boy he was always quiet, thin in the background. He was cared for by an aunt, not his own parents. She had died not too long ago. That admission caused a long pause and hesitation. Tears stood at the edge of his thin, sunken eyes and stayed there; they did not fall.

He would share one or two memories or thoughts for each visit. Then, as if having been exposed enough, he would draw into himself and become silent, shrugging through the rest of the conversation.

He almost died. He quit eating suddenly and his friend as steadfast and methodical as he was about most of life; kept right on giving him his blood pressure medicine, his sugar pill, and his pain medicine. On seeing him that day, he was still sitting in the easy chair, sunk back into it. Every now and then, he would jerk, straining to not fall asleep or tip over. He refused to get in the bed. It was easier to sit upright in the chair and rest. A cigarette recently put out was in the ashtray. The room smelled of smoke. It was filled with a stagnant weariness heavier than usual because the man before me could not even shrug.

His blood pressure was barely audible, his pulse thready, his respirations very shallow. I was not sure he was going to make it. We adjusted medicines and I prayed silently for him. I prayed for him to make it so he would come to know You. The hospice nurse was there and out in the living room; the friend talked and talked. He shared how his friend’s illness had affected him, worried him, how much loss he had suffered through recently. Several family members had died in the last month. And then the cat, the cat had been run over by a car. His voice broke. He cried. The tears fell.

He, unlike his friend, shared a lot, his vulnerability achingly visible, his need for comfort openly spoken. We listened, comforted. I asked if I could pray for him and his friend. He offered that it was okay but that was not really something he was ever interested in much. I assured him that we did not have to pray. But he was insistent that I do, giving the impression that it could not hurt and it might help his friend. Might help. Indeed, You answered prayer, Lord, he woke up after twenty-four hours of no medicine.

He now was up and eating. Making it to the bathroom had been critically important and he was able to do that. That day I saw him after his retreat from death’s call, he was sitting in the easy chair, legs akimbo, hospital bed nearby with an egg crate mattress upside down. He was very talkative; eyes lit up and he smiled when I exclaimed how great it was to see him up. You are a miracle I said, that you have heartbeat and breath and are sitting there fussing about the mattress. That is a miracle. God must want you here awhile longer. His shrug and smile was one of half acceptance. He talked a lot that visit. He talked of his routine, his day to day activity when he was well. How important it was to get to town after work and hang with his friends, just “easy sharing.” His descriptive words about what he did were streetwise, after uttering them, he looked up with eyes a twinkle and apologized. I remarked how good it was to see him smile. How much it mattered that he was alive.

He stopped then mid-thought, his face contorted to tears. They stayed, silent sentinels at the edge of his thin sunken eyes. He seemed more vulnerable this time, unsure about shrugging off his heart. I touched his hand gently. We sat a long time silent. The silence was broken by the sudden appearance of his friend at the bedroom door. We were both startled back to reality. The moment of transparency was shattered. He thanked me for coming, for listening. His gratitude was so sincere, a rare expression of emotion in a man used to not being heard, used to being passed over, used to being overlooked. I patted his hand:

It is a great pleasure sir, a great pleasure to see you, to be with you.

His eyes filled again. I asked gently:

Can I pray with you this time?

No, he shook his head.

Ok dear, I’ll pray for you in the car.

He half-smiled again. I stood up, went to his door and turned.

Sir, it was so good for me to see you. I am so glad I got to see you again. I had to see you again. I thought you weren’t going to make it last time. Thank you. I will see you next week.

He nodded, his face contorted to tears. We shook hands and he held my hand a little longer in a firm squeeze. Our eyes locked.

See you then, he nodded.

The rain was coming down. How bereft he is I thought, how alone. How much he needs You, Lord, Your presence, Your comfort, Your strength. Maybe next time, maybe next time.

There is not a next time: he died, two days later.

Let not your hearts be troubled;

You believe in God, believe also in Me.

In My Father’s house are many mansions;

if it were not so,

I would have told you.

I go to prepare a place for you.

I will come again and receive you to Myself,

That where I am, there you may be also.

And where I go you know, and the way you know.

Thomas said to Him, “Lord, we do not know

where You are going,

How can we know the way?”

Jesus said to him, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

No one comes to the Father except through Me.

No one comes to the Father except through Me.

It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh profits nothing.

The words that I speak to you are spirit,

and they are life.

But there are some of you who do not believe.

No one can come to Me unless it has been granted to him by My Father…

I am the Way, the Truth, the Life.

(adapted from John 14: 1-6; 6:63-65; 14:6, NKJV)

In the beginning was the Word,

And the Word was with God

And the Word was God.

He was with God in the Beginning.

hrough Him all things were made,

Without Him nothing was made that has been made.

In Him was life, and that life was the light of men.

The light shines in the darkness,

But the darkness has not understood it…

He was in the world and though the world

was made through Him,

The world did not recognize Him.

He came to that which was His own,

but His own did not receive Him.

Yet to all who received Him,

To those who believed in His Name,

He gave the right to become children of God,

Children not born of natural descent,

nor of human decision

Or a husband’s will, but born of God.

The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.

We have seen His glory.

The glory of the One and Only Who came from the Father,

Full of grace and truth.

Full of grace and truth.

(adapted from John 1:1-14, NIV)