THE MOST GLORIOUS HOME
The hospital room was eerily quiet. The mother looked at her thirty-five-year-son. “Oh, my beautiful son,” she thought to herself, “how hard this treatment must be on you.” Her heart and soul cried for the millionth time for God to ease his pain and make him truly well again.
Only one year since the diagnosis of lymphoma had painstakingly led her son in this convoluted trail of tears, hurt, pain, short remission, and, now, second stem cell transplant. Her heart’s hole seem to grow larger as she sat waiting patiently in the hospital room that had so often been his home over the past year. “Why him? Why him? Why not me? I am old and he is so young. He had finally found the love of his life in his dear wife and a wonderful job and a church home that he loved—Oh, please, dear God, if it is your will at all, please let him stay on this earth with us, but whole and well.”
There were no grandchildren—only his dear wife and his family consisting of his mother, father, aunt, cousin, and brother and wife—all taking turns at being at his side. The second stem cell transplant seemed to be taking too long. It was from his brother this time instead of himself. He was much weaker—too weak; the mother had to see as reality. Once again, at least 50 times a day the tears flowed quietly down her cheeks as he again pleaded the same heart-rending prayer.
Suddenly, the son sat up in his bed and looked distantly toward the door—seemingly not to notice his mother or anyone else in the room. “Oh”, he said, in labored breathless tones, “oh, looks—look at the Kingdom—my kingdom. I have a crown—a glorious crown. It is so very beautiful. It’s shining and beyond my wildest expectations. What a wonderful place.” His eyes seemed to glaze over.
“Oh, Jay, what kingdom? “ The mother asked, knowing that the morphine strong dose often brought with it delusions.
“You know, you know.” Is all he could say before he fell back into the bed. “God has told me that I cannot serve Him any longer in this life, but maybe he can let me serve him in my death.”
“Oh, son, please, please God, no death,” whispered his mother with her tears beginning again.
Her precious son closed his eyes, never to open them again in this world.
It was only a matter of a few hours until his life support systems that had to be quickly attached after this his last words. At his moment of leaving his family stood his pastors, his mother, his wife, his brother and his wife, and his wife’s family.
Out of desperation and deepest trust, the mother said, “Please everyone, and say with me the 23rd Psalm as Jay leaves us for his heavenly home.”
The beautiful and flowing 23rd Psalm came from everyone’s lips and the sweet spirit of Jay finally found his heavenly home of mansions. A defeat for his great and brave warrior spirit that lost the battle of this earthly life; but a joy for his Christian spirit as it greeted joyfully the glory of heaven.
“Good by, son, may we meet in heaven. Thank you, Lord, for giving me a fine Christian son to love even for this little while. Thank you, Lord, for conquering death for him and for us. Help those of us still remaining to give glory to you by serving you better,” silently prayed the mother in acknowledgement.
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