THROUGH THE EYES OF AN OLD LADY

Yesterday morning I woke up feeling a little sad.  I had been dreaming about my Dad who died earlier this year.  As I slowly gained consciousness from my deep sleep, I could still hear his voice in my head.  It wasn't a ghost - I don't believe in ghosts - just a very strong memory of his voice and the way he used to greet me with a big sloppy kiss on the lips.  I know, not appropriate, but it was his way of making up for the 10 years that we were apart. So, I woke up feeling loved and cared for by my Dad and then I remembered that he isn't here any more.

November has crept up on me and here we are now at day six.  On Monday my sister sent me a message suggesting that we should have the stone on Dad's resting place inscribed in time for his birthday on 22nd November.  That is a lovely idea - but then, that would be finally admitting that he has gone, wouldn't it? Since 26th April there has been a whirl of activity to take my mind away from these personal feelings. First, there was the three weeks spent in England organising the funeral, sorting, cleaning and clearing Dad's house, closing bank accounts, stopping pensions etc etc.  Three frantic sleepless weeks which ended with a day out at Drusilla's Park with A, courtesy of a kind officer at THQ.  Then the flight back to Brasil and a pile of work waiting for us when we arrived.  We did have a holiday in July but P. was ill and so there was no time to think and ponder.

I thought it would be easy to forget about my dream but the emotions came flooding back when we visited an elderly member of our congregation in the afternoon.  A. is 86 years old; three years older than my Dad when he died.  I felt a little resentful of the fact that God had allowed her to live a little longer than my Dad - a silly childish thought, borne out of grief, that didn't linger for long as she told us her story and showed us a small book of photos with Amigos (Friends) written in biro on the back. As she showed us each photo (my husband was with me) she pointed to a person and said, 'She has died', and another, 'That was my best friend, she has died', 'That was my son - he died aged 36', 'That was my husband - he died 8 years ago'.  I looked into her eyes and she looked sad. I said, 'As we get older, we see many people we love die, don't we?'  She nodded silently.  I could have moved the conversation on but I wanted to stay with her in the moment and acknowledge her sadness.  I wanted her to know that someone else understood her sadness and her feeling of loss.

She gave us each a bowl of raisin and vanilla ice cream and then I shared some verses of scripture with her.  Ephesians 3 v 14 - 21 - we used this passage of scripture during our Corps Anniversary weekend in October - it's one of my favourites. I had no idea what I would say to this lady but when I finished reading I found the words just flowed out of my mouth.   'You live in this beautiful apartment alone, but actually the truth is that you are not alone.  When you wake up Jesus is here and when you go to sleep at night Jesus is still here, watching over you and waiting for you to wake up so He can walk with you through another day.  His love is so wide and long and high and deep that it absolutely fills this apartment and this is our prayer for you today, that you would be surrounded and uplifted by His love'.
As I had read the scripture her eyes had lit up and as I shared these words of encouragement her face seemed to shine.  She had seemed so sad when we were looking at the photos but now she was smiling and shining.   You might think that I am exaggerating, but for me, at that moment I could feel the presence of Jesus fill the room.  This old lady was inspiring me and I could feel my own spirit lifting as we both shared the same hope in Jesus.

I am so glad that my Dad met Jesus before he died. When I was a child he used to say, 'Once you're dead, you're dead', which is why he fought so hard to stay alive, I think. Then, one night, in his early 70's, lying close to death in the ICU of the N.H. Hospital, he prayed a simple prayer, 'God, if you get me out of here, I will go to your house'.  I love the grace of God.  He accepted that prayer.  Dad survived his aortic aneurism and after two months in hospital he returned home.  God had answered his prayer and so Dad started to attend the church nearest his house.  I am not sure which was the biggest miracle!

I had the amazing privilege of praying with my Dad just a few hours before he died.  It was my sister's sudden inspiration that she should put her mobile phone against his ear while I spoke into my computer in Brasil - the magic of skype!  I really wanted to be there with him and for that moment I was. I prayed that God would heal him in body, mind and spirit, that angels would surround his bed and watch over him and that he would know the presence of Jesus.  Dad died 12 hours later.

So, maybe God has inspired my sister once again.  Maybe we should get his stone inscribed for his birthday. All I've got to do is choose some words, write a cheque - and accept that he is no longer here.

Yesterday was a special day for me.  It was a busy, working day, but Jesus stepped into my busy schedule, surrounded me with His love and gave me hope through the eyes of an 86 year old lady.