When the One We Look after Dies

I all the time regarded ahead to my weekly go to to the nursing dwelling to see Bert.  He was the type of individual you need to be like if you get previous—erudite, interested by issues, a voracious reader, a lifelong learner. He was sensible and humorous, and he may quote Tennyson and St. Paul with equal ease. Bert was a beekeeper, as am I, and we’d sit and discuss how my hives had been coming alongside, and which fruits and flowers had been in bloom simply then. He appreciated to say, solely half joking, that there can be honey in heaven, as a result of the Almighty promised to take His individuals to “…a land flowing with milk and honey” (Exodus 3:8).

So, I parked my pickup within the shade, strode into the carpeted lobby on the nursing dwelling, previous the blue Ali Baba sized ceramic jars that stood guard at both facet of the door, and made my approach down the corridor to Bert’s room.  There have been two nurses within the room, and a person in a brown go well with who was filling out some kinds on a clipboard. On the mattress there was a physique with a sheet pulled up over the top. “Are you household?” the one nurse requested. I mentioned that I used to be Bert’s pastor. She mentioned, “Oh, nicely, I’m sorry. He handed a few half-hour in the past.” 

The nursing dwelling had a flower backyard, and Bert had by some means managed to get himself appointed the official gardener. There was a bench within the backyard, within the shade, and I went and sat there for some time, to take a look at Bert’s flowers, and to suppose.  Simply two weeks earlier than, sitting on that very bench, Bert had recited for me a number of strains from considered one of his favourite poems, Tennyson’s Crossing the Bar. He would try this typically, Bert would, attain into his reminiscence and pull out a poem and recite it. I can nonetheless hear his gravelly voice: “Sundown and night star, and one clear name for me. And should there be no moaning of the bar once I put out to sea… I hope to see my Pilot head to head when I’ve crossed the bar.” I regarded down at considered one of Bert’s flowers, a flaming orange zinnia with a blossom the dimensions of a cupcake, and there was a honeybee.

Generally our caregiving involves an abrupt, sad ending—the individuals we take care of, and care about, die. However as Christians, the world of our hope isn’t confined to the span of this life. “Whether or not we reside or die,” mentioned the apostle Paul, “we’re the Lord’s” (Romans 14:8). Loss of life might separate us from these we most love, nevertheless it doesn’t separate us from the one who most loves us. If we don’t know what’s past the grave, we definitely know who’s past the grave – Jesus Christ our Lord. And after we know that we all know sufficient.

I all the time regarded ahead to my weekly go to to the nursing dwelling to see Bert.  He was the type of individual you need to be like if you get previous—erudite, interested by issues, a voracious reader, a lifelong learner. He was sensible and humorous, and he may quote Tennyson and St. Paul with equal ease. Bert was a beekeeper, as am I, and we’d sit and discuss how my hives had been coming alongside, and which fruits and flowers had been in bloom simply then. He appreciated to say, solely half joking, that there can be honey in heaven, as a result of the Almighty promised to take His individuals to “…a land flowing with milk and honey” (Exodus 3:8).

So, I parked my pickup within the shade, strode into the carpeted lobby on the nursing dwelling, previous the blue Ali Baba sized ceramic jars that stood guard at both facet of the door, and made my approach down the corridor to Bert’s room.  There have been two nurses within the room, and a person in a brown go well with who was filling out some kinds on a clipboard. On the mattress there was a physique with a sheet pulled up over the top. “Are you household?” the one nurse requested. I mentioned that I used to be Bert’s pastor. She mentioned, “Oh, nicely, I’m sorry. He handed a few half-hour in the past.” 

The nursing dwelling had a flower backyard, and Bert had by some means managed to get himself appointed the official gardener. There was a bench within the backyard, within the shade, and I went and sat there for some time, to take a look at Bert’s flowers, and to suppose.  Simply two weeks earlier than, sitting on that very bench, Bert had recited for me a number of strains from considered one of his favourite poems, Tennyson’s Crossing the Bar. He would try this typically, Bert would, attain into his reminiscence and pull out a poem and recite it. I can nonetheless hear his gravelly voice: “Sundown and night star, and one clear name for me. And should there be no moaning of the bar once I put out to sea… I hope to see my Pilot head to head when I’ve crossed the bar.” I regarded down at considered one of Bert’s flowers, a flaming orange zinnia with a blossom the dimensions of a cupcake, and there was a honeybee.

Generally our caregiving involves an abrupt, sad ending—the individuals we take care of, and care about, die. However as Christians, the world of our hope isn’t confined to the span of this life. “Whether or not we reside or die,” mentioned the apostle Paul, “we’re the Lord’s” (Romans 14:8). Loss of life might separate us from these we most love, nevertheless it doesn’t separate us from the one who most loves us. If we don’t know what’s past the grave, we definitely know who’s past the grave – Jesus Christ our Lord. And after we know that we all know sufficient.