The Burning Question

It was a season of loss. Just that morning we had been at an amazing celebration of life ceremony. Now, after lunch and a brief nap, we were on our way to Community Hospice Anne and Donald McGraw Center for Caring off San Pablo Rd. Leigh had just arrived an hour earlier as a new patient. My first experiences with hospice go back to when I was a seventeen-year-old and my grandfather, with support, died at home.

Traditionally, I do not cry while visiting these types of facilities. I save tears for secluded times while driving and such, but today was different. When I contemplated the quiet, gentle, enduring love that Gene, her husband, had for Leigh, my tears flowed as I faced him to pray.

We exited the room rather quickly as other friends were waiting to visit. In his signature way, Dean softly played his guitar as we followed several twists and turns toward the entrance. One nurse waved a thankful glance toward him, as the melodies were welcome gifts to her laborious day.

Dean settled on the couch in the entranceway consulting his book of hymns. Having detoured to ladies room, I stumbled upon a heart warming interaction with the security guard. He was fully immersed in the the beauty and power of the music that saturated the air. The more the guitar strummed, the more he told us the story of his life. He had a successful career as a pharmaceutical rep. Upon his retirement he and his wife bought an RV and went about to see the United States. They had a wonderful few months on the road visiting all the states in the lower 48. He said the cleanest of all was Idaho. “They take great pride in the beauty of their state and they will ask you, ever so politely, to pick up your trash.” I marvel in these types of insights when people tell me things, because they are speaking from their heart information that might not be readily available in a book or on a website.

He explained how after that amazing trip across our beautiful land, he sold the RV. He settled into retirement only to be bumping into his wife all too often and was restless. Someone told of this position at hospice and ever since, he has been employed every weekend. He spoke of his faith, quoting the Bible chapter and verse. It was wonderous to behold how easily he shared the gospel, God’s redeeming love through the life, death and resurrection of His Son. Obviously, this humble security guard was storing up for himself treasures in heaven, where rust and moth do not destroy. He emphasized how he mitigated this job emotionally. How he is always kind, but tries not to become too attached to the clients. The recovery time from a job with endless potential for grief was costly.

Then, his voice modulated with increased strain as he explained, “There is this one thing I do not understand. I have asked many pastors and highly educated people. No one can answer for me this one question. I will never understand this, why God allows children and babies to have cancer and the like and suffer and then die.” He reiterated this sentiment in several varied utterances. You could tell this brought him deep anguish.

I piped up, “Well, I can tell you. As a mother who lost her seven year old. If you give a momma a choice of having their baby for two or three years or not at all, a momma will choose that time with their child, no matter how short. They would choose the short amount of time over never having held them at all.”

“No one can explain to me no one can tell me why?” He responded as if no words could penetrate this disturbing question.

“She is actually answering your question.” Dean chimed in.

I continued, “If you take a hundred years and put that over eternity…if you take seven years, three years or just a few months and place that over eternity. Those mathematical values are equal. I know it doesn’t appear to make sense, but mathematically , logically, they are the same amount of time.”

Dean began quoting James 4:14, “For what is your life? It is a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.”

“You know you are right, I guess that is a good answer,” You could perceive a small smile was forming from deep inside his soul and welling to the surface as this burning question was being answered this noteworthy day. He asked to handle Dean’s guitar. He rested the guitar in his lap, as a man would welcome a dear friend. His fingers effortlessly scaled the strings producing the song, “Do Lord, Oh do Lord, Oh do remember me!”

As sad as the circumstances that brought us to this place, I recognized the simple, yet powerful results of human connection. I noticed how the supernatural realm seems to be activated around my husband in his continual heart for worship in ordinary and yet unexpected places. I marvel at the specific synergy that emerged as I was a good candidate to help navigate the murky waters of such a troubling question. Had Dean not lingered in the lobby and captivated this man’s heart, none of that would have transpired.

In your ordinary days, even on your sad days, I hope that you will see that the unseen Hand of Almighty God is opening doors to comfort, soothe, and even challenge complete strangers. Leigh moved to heaven the next day. Her physical frailties are forever behind her, her rewards and unimaginable discoveries are just beginning.

_{Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him. 1 Corinthians 2:9}