Dying

During nearly four decades of pastoring, my ability to comfort those who were facing death was sometimes hindered by sincere, well-intentioned persons who insisted that we can remain healthy until God calls us home. Such a view point denies the medical reality that more often than not, death is a painful process, as well as biblical testimony that indicates suffering is to be embraced and not seen as an enemy to spirituality:  “… we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us” (Romans 5:3-5 NIV). 

Billy Graham, when asked if it was unfair for God to allow him to have Parkinson’s and other medical problems when he had faithfully served Him, replied, “Suffering is part of the human condition, and it comes to us all. The key is how we react to it, either turning away from God in anger and bitterness or growing closer to him in trust and confidence.”

Therefore, recognizing the inevitable, I have tried to prepare Linda, as well as myself, for that time when suffering shall give way to glorious healing as she transitions from this life into the wonders of heaven. As I sit by her bed each day, I am very aware that what is taking place did not catch God by surprise. Over three thousand years ago, the Psalmist, in at what first appears to be out of context with surrounding verses, inserts this wonderful nugget of truth: Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful servants (Psalm 116:15 NIV). In my mind, the picture accompanying today’s blog perfectly depicts the moment when Linda will be set free from the constraints which she presently endures and forever enter the freedom that only her Savior can provide.

As I have often said, I have no idea how much longer Linda will be with me; however, I am absolutely certain that it will be much less than the time we have already spent together. Valentine’s Day provided a perfect opportunity for me to reflect on the past and the present:

February 14, 1963

Both of us were students in Cleveland, Tennessee. At that time, Lee College was very small, and university status was not on anyone’s mind. We had our first date in December 1962 and then were separated for nearly a month during Christmas break, she in Kentucky and I in Florida. Upon returning, we resumed dating and by Valentine’s Day were becoming aware that a small flame was being kindled. Wanting to impress her, I severely strained an already impoverished budget and treated her to a nice meal at a local restaurant. Now, a ramshackle building sits on the spot where that restaurant once operated. I still have the gift that she gave me – a small leather-bound Bible with a handwritten message on the flyleaf (Ronnie, May this be your source of strength and knowledge to aid souls in a dying world. Love, Linda). As two young people in search of a puposeful life of ministry, neither of us could have imagined the wonderful plans that God had ordained for the two of us.

February 14, 2023

Last Tuesday, sixty years later, our celebration again centered around mealtime, but the circumstances were so very different. She, having suffered a fractured hip sixteen days earlier, was confined to a hospital bed. Leaving home very early, I was waiting at Publix when the doors opened and purchased a Valentine balloon to fly in her room. She was sweet and alert when I arrived, but then closed her eyes while I read five Psalms to her. After devotions, displaying patience that I did not possess earlier in my life, I was able to get her to eat a significant portion of her breakfast. 

Later that afternoon, when I returned to feed her the evening meal, I found her soundly sleeping. Briefly opening her eyes, she greeted me with a smile and then promptly went back to sleep. In an effort to keep her awake while she ate, I sang a ditty to her, “Chew, chew, chew your food, and swallow it all down.” She thoroughly enjoyed it, and when I told her how much I loved her, she said, “You are my sweetheart!” With her present level of cognition, she should not have been able to make that statement. Only God knows how much I needed to hear those words on Valentine’s Day. The small flame that was being kindled sixty years ago has grown into a warm and wonderful fire that continues to burn, despite the suffering!