B E H I N D / T H E / B A R

I stood by her bedside a little while ago. She could only communicate with a pen and paper.

It was almost a year ago that I stood by her husband’s bedside. He had collapsed the day before in the checkout line at Walmart.  A couple of customers and myself  tried to resuscitate him. He survived, but only for a few more weeks then he eventually passed. The day after his collapse I visited him in the hospital. He never opened his eyes, but I introduced myself anyway and, hoping he could hear me, I asked him about the condition of his soul. The tears that streamed out of his eyes were unmistakable, and I knew he heard me. I left that day hoping with everything that was within me that he was truly ready to meet Jesus face-to-face.

Today, some eight months later, I stood by his widow’s bedside in CCU.  Her doctor has told her that she doesn’t have much time. She’s hooked up to all kinds of machines and she has asked the doctor to take her off those machines tomorrow. Her nephew called me today and asked me if I would come by and spend some time with her.  I did.   She attempted to write a few notes to me but it was a struggle. I took her by the hand and asked her, “Are you ready?”  “Life is short, but eternity is forever!”  With tears streaming down her face she looked at me with great uncertainty. I explained to her that a relationship with Jesus can start anywhere at anytime. I told her that He was in the room, waiting for her invitation for Him to be the Lord of her life, the Lover of her soul.  I asked her if she was ready to extend that invitation to Him, to squeeze my hand. With a strength that seemed to come from no where she squeezed my hand and didn’t let go. I prayed for a minute or two more and said “amen.”

Her countenance was different. No more uncertainty, no more fear. Just peace.

I don’t know if that will be my last prayer with her, but I am sure of one thing. I will see her again.

Life is short. Eternity is forever. I pray you’re not living today at the expense of Forever.