There was a stuffiness in the room, environmental as well as emotional. Over the last few days a seemingly endless stream of people had made their way in and out, a cycle repeated so often that the family was almost numb to the influx of visitors. Each person, each couple, would stay for a few minutes, warmest wishes to those in the chairs and around the walls, a word of encouragement, brief and passing conversations in the hallways.
Everyone had been so considerate over these last few days, despite the close quarters and a small air conditioner that just wasn’t as effective as everyone would like. The days and nights had started to blend together, was it time for dinner or breakfast? Still, no one was very hungry. There would be time to eat, promises made to friends that they would keep up their strength, some vague mention of getting ‘something later.’
Almost without fail, the many visitors would come to the bedside, take the hand of the man laying there, and offer a smile, some half-hearted instruction to ‘hang in there,’ or ‘you’re going to be okay.’ The old man would look up with the same kindness he’d shown for so many years, only this time it was more worn and weary. With a wink and a smile, he would nod and say, “You bet.” As they would turn to make their exit, he could see them from the corner of his eye, a hug for his family, a sad shaking of their heads, some whisper of how it wouldn’t be “too much longer.”
This didn’t bother him. He may be old and frail, but one thing he was not was a fool. He had known for a while now that his time was growing short. He had even told his family not to worry, not to be sad. He recalled his last sermon to his congregation, bidding farewell to the families he had pastored for so long. Of course, there would be deep affection and appreciation to contend with, so it was no surprise to hear them say to him, “Don’t talk like that! Things are going to be okay. You’ll get better.” And in his usual way, he would smile and say, “Sure I will.”
Now, it looked like all their hopes were coming to an end. There was a mix of appreciation and exhaustion, the family never able to adequately thank those who came to be there for them, but also wanting some time for themselves. Why all this fuss? he thought to himself. This is just a part of life. The last part, sure, but I know what’s waiting for me.
Suddenly, he felt a wave of sadness, powerful, unexpected. There was no fear of the beyond, no anxiety of what death would feel like, yet he could not escape the sadness. As a tear rolled down his cheek, his daughter came to his side. “What’s wrong, Dad? Do you need something?” There were no words, just more tears from the still bright eyes. The rest of the family, fearing what they knew was inevitable, rushed to be beside him. It was then the words finally came.
“I’ve been a preacher for most of my life. I’ve been where you are standing on more occasions that I can remember. So many times it’s not like this. I’ve been truly blessed.” It was getting harder for him to speak. His son said, “We’ve been blessed, too.”
“You don’t understand,” said the old man, his voice struggling to be heard past the weakness and the emotion. “Most people never get to leave something behind, an explanation or anything else. Death rarely happens as it does in the movies.
“I’m not afraid to go. I love you all, and I look forward to seeing you again in heaven. But I have one big regret, and now it’s too late to change it.”
His wife, a loving woman who had been with him all throughout his ministry, nearly sixty years, gently moved the stray hairs off his forehead, said, “What do you regret, honey? We’ll try to make it right.”
“You can’t,” came the reply. “I regret that I didn’t do more for the Lord.”
The room was silent for a moment. Another son said, “Dad, you were a preacher for over fifty years. You’ve helped hundreds and even thousands of people. You’ve led I don’t know how many people to the Lord, and you’ve seen your children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren raised in Christian homes. What more could you have done?”
The man thought for a moment, said, “I don’t know. I just know that the place where I’m going, and the One who is taking me there, is worth more effort that I did or even could give. When I was a young pastor, I thought to myself, ‘I could be doing other things. I should take it easy, relax, I’m already doing more than my share.’ But now, I see things differently. One lifetime just doesn’t seem enough time to work for the Lord. I don’t know what else I could have done, but I would have sure liked the opportunity to try.”
Then, a look of peace came over his face. The tears stopped, his eyes grew wide and bright. He looked around the room, into the concerned and loving faces of his family, and said, “There’s one thing you all can promise me. Promise me that your life will be about more than yourself. Never let a day go by that you don’t share Jesus with someone. Be there for one another, be there to help others. Let God’s light shine through you, so others can see the way out of their darkness. That is the best thing you can do for me. It’s the only thing that counts.”
Each person nodded, said they would honor their father’s request. He smiled again, let his head relax on the pillow. He said, “Mine has been a good life. The Lord has never left my side, and I’m going to a place where I will never again leave His side. After a lifetime of searching, I finally know what life is all about.”
“What’s it about, Granddad?” a granddaughter asked.
“It’s not about yourself. It’s all about what you can do for someone else, and it’s all about the Lord. I wouldn’t trade what I’ve had for anything in this world. I thank God for you all, and I pray you’ll carry on His work.”
The room seemed to grow brighter, even larger, but he was the only one who noticed. He wanted to ask them if they could see the light, could feel the cool breeze, but as he looked around, he no longer saw his family. There was one face, though, that stood out. It was a face he’d never seen before, but he knew it as well as he knew his own. He reached out a hand as the face began to smile, and the man said, “Welcome home.”
He took a deep breath, a sigh of relief, perhaps a sigh of wonder, and everyone knew he was gone. There were tears, low sobs, but no one in that room doubted; each person was sad for themselves, but no one was sad for him. One chapter had ended, but a glorious new chapter had begun, and this chapter would never end. Now it was up to them to carry on the story for him.
© 2006, Chris Keeton and Soulscape Press. All rights reserved. All material printed on this site is protected by the copyright law of the United States. It may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, displayed, published or broadcast without the prior written permission of Chris Keeton and Soulscape Press, obtainable by writing to soulscape@alltel.net. Altering or removing any trademark, copyright or other notice from copies of the content is not permitted. Any and all portions of material copied from the Soulscape Blog must be properly attributed to Chris Keeton and Soulscape, and cited with original blog web address.
Everyone had been so considerate over these last few days, despite the close quarters and a small air conditioner that just wasn’t as effective as everyone would like. The days and nights had started to blend together, was it time for dinner or breakfast? Still, no one was very hungry. There would be time to eat, promises made to friends that they would keep up their strength, some vague mention of getting ‘something later.’
Almost without fail, the many visitors would come to the bedside, take the hand of the man laying there, and offer a smile, some half-hearted instruction to ‘hang in there,’ or ‘you’re going to be okay.’ The old man would look up with the same kindness he’d shown for so many years, only this time it was more worn and weary. With a wink and a smile, he would nod and say, “You bet.” As they would turn to make their exit, he could see them from the corner of his eye, a hug for his family, a sad shaking of their heads, some whisper of how it wouldn’t be “too much longer.”
This didn’t bother him. He may be old and frail, but one thing he was not was a fool. He had known for a while now that his time was growing short. He had even told his family not to worry, not to be sad. He recalled his last sermon to his congregation, bidding farewell to the families he had pastored for so long. Of course, there would be deep affection and appreciation to contend with, so it was no surprise to hear them say to him, “Don’t talk like that! Things are going to be okay. You’ll get better.” And in his usual way, he would smile and say, “Sure I will.”
Now, it looked like all their hopes were coming to an end. There was a mix of appreciation and exhaustion, the family never able to adequately thank those who came to be there for them, but also wanting some time for themselves. Why all this fuss? he thought to himself. This is just a part of life. The last part, sure, but I know what’s waiting for me.
Suddenly, he felt a wave of sadness, powerful, unexpected. There was no fear of the beyond, no anxiety of what death would feel like, yet he could not escape the sadness. As a tear rolled down his cheek, his daughter came to his side. “What’s wrong, Dad? Do you need something?” There were no words, just more tears from the still bright eyes. The rest of the family, fearing what they knew was inevitable, rushed to be beside him. It was then the words finally came.
“I’ve been a preacher for most of my life. I’ve been where you are standing on more occasions that I can remember. So many times it’s not like this. I’ve been truly blessed.” It was getting harder for him to speak. His son said, “We’ve been blessed, too.”
“You don’t understand,” said the old man, his voice struggling to be heard past the weakness and the emotion. “Most people never get to leave something behind, an explanation or anything else. Death rarely happens as it does in the movies.
“I’m not afraid to go. I love you all, and I look forward to seeing you again in heaven. But I have one big regret, and now it’s too late to change it.”
His wife, a loving woman who had been with him all throughout his ministry, nearly sixty years, gently moved the stray hairs off his forehead, said, “What do you regret, honey? We’ll try to make it right.”
“You can’t,” came the reply. “I regret that I didn’t do more for the Lord.”
The room was silent for a moment. Another son said, “Dad, you were a preacher for over fifty years. You’ve helped hundreds and even thousands of people. You’ve led I don’t know how many people to the Lord, and you’ve seen your children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren raised in Christian homes. What more could you have done?”
The man thought for a moment, said, “I don’t know. I just know that the place where I’m going, and the One who is taking me there, is worth more effort that I did or even could give. When I was a young pastor, I thought to myself, ‘I could be doing other things. I should take it easy, relax, I’m already doing more than my share.’ But now, I see things differently. One lifetime just doesn’t seem enough time to work for the Lord. I don’t know what else I could have done, but I would have sure liked the opportunity to try.”
Then, a look of peace came over his face. The tears stopped, his eyes grew wide and bright. He looked around the room, into the concerned and loving faces of his family, and said, “There’s one thing you all can promise me. Promise me that your life will be about more than yourself. Never let a day go by that you don’t share Jesus with someone. Be there for one another, be there to help others. Let God’s light shine through you, so others can see the way out of their darkness. That is the best thing you can do for me. It’s the only thing that counts.”
Each person nodded, said they would honor their father’s request. He smiled again, let his head relax on the pillow. He said, “Mine has been a good life. The Lord has never left my side, and I’m going to a place where I will never again leave His side. After a lifetime of searching, I finally know what life is all about.”
“What’s it about, Granddad?” a granddaughter asked.
“It’s not about yourself. It’s all about what you can do for someone else, and it’s all about the Lord. I wouldn’t trade what I’ve had for anything in this world. I thank God for you all, and I pray you’ll carry on His work.”
The room seemed to grow brighter, even larger, but he was the only one who noticed. He wanted to ask them if they could see the light, could feel the cool breeze, but as he looked around, he no longer saw his family. There was one face, though, that stood out. It was a face he’d never seen before, but he knew it as well as he knew his own. He reached out a hand as the face began to smile, and the man said, “Welcome home.”
He took a deep breath, a sigh of relief, perhaps a sigh of wonder, and everyone knew he was gone. There were tears, low sobs, but no one in that room doubted; each person was sad for themselves, but no one was sad for him. One chapter had ended, but a glorious new chapter had begun, and this chapter would never end. Now it was up to them to carry on the story for him.
© 2006, Chris Keeton and Soulscape Press. All rights reserved. All material printed on this site is protected by the copyright law of the United States. It may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, displayed, published or broadcast without the prior written permission of Chris Keeton and Soulscape Press, obtainable by writing to soulscape@alltel.net. Altering or removing any trademark, copyright or other notice from copies of the content is not permitted. Any and all portions of material copied from the Soulscape Blog must be properly attributed to Chris Keeton and Soulscape, and cited with original blog web address.
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