Tribute to a Victorious Life

Photo by Marian Crawford

My husband and I were stunned when the call came.

"You need to come now," my nephew said, his voice catching. "It doesn't look like she'll make it through the night."

He was referring to his mother, my dear sister-in-law, Suzi, who had seemed the very picture of vitality before she'd unexpectedly received a diagnosis of metastatic lung cancer two days after Christmas. It had already spread to her spine, ribs, and hips, and the doctors gave her only 6-12 months. Maybe more with treatment.

But it wasn't to be. The cancer progressed more quickly than they thought. The phone call that rocked our world came just six weeks later.

It's true that we're all just one phone call from our knees.

When we arrived at Suzi's home, hospice had set up a hospital bed in her family room beside the wall lined with dozens of black-and-white photos of her ancestors. But Suzi couldn't see them; her eyes remained closed most of the time, except for the few moments she cracked them open to respond to her daughter's voice, or when her beloved brother arrived. And then it was questionable how much she was really seeing, for her normally twinkling blue eyes were glazed and dull with impending death.

We, the family, took turns speaking to Suzi, and caressing her hands and sponging her forehead in attempt to soothe pain-induced writhing. An hour passed painstakingly slowly.

But then something truly amazing happened.

Suddenly, Suzi threw back her head and lifted wide, clear eyes toward the ceiling directly above her bed. It was so obvious that she was looking at something, we all gazed upward to see what had commanded her attention. Our mortal eyes could see nothing, but Suzi, already passing through the effervescent veil into eternity, seemed mesmerized.

In one accord, we recalled her husband's account of Suzi's midnight conversation with Jesus a few days earlier. In the darkest of nights, Suzi, her husband declared, had begun answering and asking questions to an unseen bedside visitor, whom she identified with complete confidence as Jesus. Suzi's normal conversational cadence and pauses for responses that her husband couldn't hear caused him to believe with all certainty that the presence of the Son of God was unquestionably in that room, and every bit as real as if she'd been talking to her best friend.

At that time, Suzi told her husband that Jesus had said it wasn't yet time for her to come, but that she needed to stay and fight a little while longer. And then, in the end, she would win the battle. 

And victorious she was, as she drew her last breath and the people who had loved her most in this brief life ushered her into the next by joining hands around her bed, praying and singing hymns and praise songs through their tears.

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints," (Psalm 116:15, KJV).

As precious as Suzi was to those who knew and loved her, what immense comfort to know she's even more precious to her Creator and the Lover of her Soul who welcomed her home with opened arms.

Certainly makes one think. Life after life .. am I ready? Are you ready?  



   

An Unexpected Twist in Events

I just returned from two weeks in a mt cabin enjoying the hummingbirds, little brown field bunnies, chipmonks, and 60 degree mornings. It was a very beneficial time of prayer, communion with my Creator within the beauty of His creation, contemplation, study, writing, and spiritual renewal.

Oh, did I mention near-death? Twice within the same hour?

I'd trekked down the mountain to run some errands. Just as I pulled into the grocery store parking lot to grab something for dinner, the sky split wide open and rain fell in buckets. I grabbed my umbrella from the backseat floorboard, tucked my purse against my chest and sprinted toward the store entrance with the umbrella low to my head and angled against the rain blowing in from my left side.

As I crossed the expanse in front of the store, vision occluded by my umbrella, I heard the sickening screech of car tires and a woman standing in the doorway screamed as she pointed in my direction. Suddenly the front bumper of a car entered my field of vision beneath the canopy of my umbrella as it skidded to a stop on the wet asphalt, shiny chrome coming to rest against my left hip.

I laid my left hand on the car's hood, about three inches from my now-trembling body and looked up at the ashen face of the driver, his hand flying to his forehead as he exhaled a long, relieved breath.

Dinner no longer held it's appeal and I pivoted back toward the car. I just wanted to get out of there and back to the snug safety of my cabin.

I sat dripping in my car trying to pull myself together enough to drive. Okay. I'm okay. Just breathe in and out. Thank you Lord; You saved my life. Or at the very least a long night at the ER.

The trip up the twisting narrow mountain road flanked by sheer drops took twice as long as usual in that horrible thunderstorm with dusk closing in. About halfway up, hail began pounding my windshield and I slowed to 15 mph, barely able to make out the center line as visibility decreased to almost nil.

Roundinga sharp curve, I was startled to see, in a timely flash of lightning, an enormous tree falling across the road directly in front of my car. Thankfully, I was moving so slowly because of the weather I was able to brake just in time. I reversed about ten feet and sat staring at the massive trunk and heavy limbs sprawled acorss the exact spot where my car would have been if I'd gotten there five seconds earlier.

Five seconds. The difference between life and death.

Meaningful scripture jumped out at me: If God cares so wonderfully for flowers that are here today and gone tomorrow, won't he more surely care for you? You have so little faith! (Luke 12:28, NLT).

What you hope for is kept safe for you in heaven (Col. 1:5, CEV).

It occurred to me that if we receive God's prescious gift of salvation through the sacrifice of his son, Jesus Christ, we don't have to fear death. It's merely a door opening to the greatest adventure of all : Heaven!