Peculiar People

So many thoughts whirl around in my head. I think it is because I don’t have anyone to talk to right now. My husband says we are like the Democrats and Republicans. In their case, they both have the good of the country at heart, but they see things very, very differently. In our case, we are all thinking about my mother and yet our thoughts couldn't be more different.

In my romanticized view of how family should be, I see us clinging to each other as we allow our loved one to go to the one she loves the most, her Lord. Rather, some cling to a life that is nearly over. Their desperations want some heroic measure to snatch her from the jaws of death. If it were possible, I would too.

I, as the lone member of my political party, silently pray for Jesus to hasten to come to her aid and snatch her to her eternal home. I dare not utter my feelings because I feel outnumbered. The practicality of my personality is viewed as cold and indifferent. Nothing can be further from the truth. It is my passion to see my mother's wishes fulfilled and for her to be at peace that drives these prayers for her deliverance from this life. So I sit in silence. 

Still faint, the death rattle started yesterday. I remember in some literature class in school hearing some poetic account of this sound. I think even if you don’t know it is called the death rattle, you know it is the sound of the end.  The angels of hospice have come to attend to our needs.  For me, it was the affirmation that I am doing the best for my mother. The ready prayer of the hospice nurse helped. It was so good to hold hands with someone and pray.

As I sang the hymns of our faith, I realized that we Christians truly are a peculiar people (2 Peter 2:9).  I sang many slower hymns, especially the ones about heaven. However, I began to think of some of the more Pentecostal hymns. I realized we sing many fast, hand-clapping, happy songs about death. The tune and the expressions of worship mask the truth of the message.

This blog is called the Sounds of Hope. Yesterday, for me, the sounds of hope included happy songs about dying. As a believer, I know where my hope lies. It lies in the hope of the resurrection. It lies in the truth of the scripture that says to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. As a believer that is what we want, to see our Savior and Lord. Those moments of glory we experience on earth are nothing compared to the glory that awaits us. We long for it.

Yesterday, in the midst of the sadness, the deep sadness I feel knowing that my mother will never make her quirky sounds or sit peacefully in her chair with her 75 year old Bible in her lap, I also found hope in the rattle. I knew that meant she was closer to going home.  As I sang Just a Little While to Stay Here, it was not for some far off time, it was for now. Truly soon her labors would be over.