It is “Well”

The following is a devotional that I shared earlier this month with my fellow servant leaders at Community Bible Study (CBS); we were studying the Old Testament book of Ruth at the time.

If you were here in January, you might have heard the “nutshell” version of my testimony at our opening.  The day I shared, January 23rd, was my little girl’s ninth birthday; and it was also just one and a half days after my closest friend in the world at that time crossed over from this realm to a much more glorious one.  That friend was my chemo comrade, Jane, the woman who first brought me to CBS, where she herself had been a core leader prior to being diagnosed with stage four ovarian cancer.  Though Jane never went into what the medical field calls “remission,” she did live well beyond the six weeks doctors predicted, and she and I were blessed with a three-year friendship and a type of bond that made it really, really hard for either of us to ever even regret having been diagnosed with cancer.

Shortly after we met, Jane asked me to deliver her eulogy.  And though I said yes immediately, I fretted much over the thought of eulogizing my new friend; and the closer we became, the more I dreaded speaking at Jane’s service.  But, God gave me the words to speak after my friend “changed her address,” which is how Jane referred to dying.  In fact, she and I didn’t even use the word “dying” when we talked about what was ahead.  We are, after all, told that, because of Jesus, we will never taste death–death, just like the literal “giants” in Joshua’s day, has been knocked off of its feet by GOOD and for GOOD.

Even so, I spent a lot of time feeling rather anxious about how and when Jane would move on from  down here.  The thought of it even interrupted my life at times, almost causing me to miss-step–and all because I thought I knew more than God.  One example of this is that I almost published the memoir from my sick season in December of 2012, even though I knew it wasn’t ready yet.  And I almost made this decision because I was convinced that Jane was going to move on from here before she had a chance to read it–and her reading it was very important to her and to me.  Well, it wasn’t published until the end September of 2013, and Jane was still here to receive the first official copy and read it from cover to cover.  One of my memory stones, in fact, is Jane’s copy of my memoir in which she highlighted her favorite parts–most of which are Bible verses that God used to speak to both of us while we were ill.

In the last weeks of Jane’s life here, I spent much time on the edge of her bed or in a chair beside her recliner.  She almost always seemed full of life when we were together in person, but on the phone she would often let me know how very down she felt in both her body and soul.  And she would say to me, “He’s always good, Angie.  Don’t ever let me forget that, no matter how bad things get.  I’ve got to praise him to the very end.”  And she did.  I vividly remember the next to the last time I saw her.  Hospice had just been called in and I felt a real urgency to go to her; and since I wasn’t sure what kind of shape she’d be in, I had asked my godmother to meet me at Jane’s so she could sit in the car with my daughter while I visited.  My little girl loved Ms. Jane, but I didn’t want her to be traumatized by how very sick Jane was.

As I walked away from my daughter and godmother and headed to Jane’s door that day, my daughter said, “Mom, I want to see Ms. Jane too.  It’s so very important to me.”  And I said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetie.  You’ve got to trust Mommy.”  And then she said, “But Mom, I really do have to see her.  It’s just not fair if I can’t see her too.”  So, against my better judgment, I told her that I would see how Ms. Jane was; and if she was up for more company, I would come back out and get her.  And Jane, of course, said as she lovingly patted my hand, “Your precious girl obviously needs this, Angie.  You just let her come in.  It’ll be okay.”

My little girl did need Ms. Jane, and I had no idea how much.  You see, our neighbor’s daughter who was one year younger than my daughter, had moved on to Heaven right after Christmas (so just a couple of weeks prior to this visit with Jane).  And my little girl, Jane, and I (along with many others such as our CBS home-school class) had prayed so hard for our neighbor’s daughter, who was diagnosed with cancer shortly after Jane and I were.  When my daughter walked into Jane’s room that day, Jane patted the spot beside her on her hospital bed, and she went right over and sat down.  She and Jane just looked at each other for what seemed like a long time.  Then Jane said, “Is there something you want to ask me?”  And my little light said to her, “Yes, Ms. Jane.  I want to know if you’ll tell my friend hello from me when you get to Heaven.”  And Jane said, without missing a beat, “Of course I will.”  As I fought to hold myself together, my little girl and Ms. Jane just hugged and smiled. I then tried to lighten the mood by telling Jane not to be a “God hog” when she got to Heaven.  “We’re going to need God much more down here, so give him some room and don’t take up all his time!”  Jane belly-laughed–she had such an awesome laugh; it was like it came from some other place altogether, and she always just let it go with wild abandon.

The very last time I saw Jane was the following week.  When I got to her place that day, her family caught me outside of her room and tried to prepare me, saying that she’d been mostly sleeping and often appeared to be in a semi-conscious state.  As I cracked her door, I saw that she was in a fetal-like position facing the wall and she did seem asleep.  When I whispered her name though, she turned toward me slowly and opened her eyes and gave me that signature smile.  I sat beside her in the same spot my little girl had sat the week before, and we held hands and just kept smiling at one another.  Her grandson came in the room after that and looked shocked his grandma was awake and alert.  And he said to me, “Her girlfriend shows up and she starts looking like a teenager again!”  Jane then asked me to prop her up on her pillows and, as I did so, I realized that the purpose of this was so that she would be in a better position to give orders; because the very next thing Jane did was proceed to give her grandson a long list of everything she thought everyone should be doing.  I told them both I suddenly felt that I was in the middle of a mobster movie, and she was the female “Don” giving out her last wishes for the family.  Her grandson belly-laughed, as did Jane, and shortly after that I said good-bye…..for now.

A few days later I would get a frantic phone call from Jane’s granddaughter who was at her bedside.  She told me Jane had stopped breathing, and she and Jane’s daughter (her aunt and Jane’s caregiver) had called hospice.  “This is it, Angela.  She’s gone!”  It was 10:00 on a Tuesday night.  I would find out days later from Jane’s daughter that the folks quickly came for her body and planned to take her away just as she was, which was not nearly as kept and clean as Jane liked to be.  But, Jane’s daughter sent them away, asking for time to prepare her mother’s body; they thought this was a waste of time since Jane was going to be cremated but they complied.  And Jane’s daughter would later tell me how she washed her mother’s body and anointed it with sweet-smelling fragrances and how the whole time she did so there was a supernatural glow covering her mom’s face, a face still marked by her signature smile.  She lovingly cared for her mother’s body just as the women of old cared for the body of Jesus; and I do believe that Jesus was as much present in my friend’s body as he was in his very own flesh all those years ago.

During some of the last moments Jane and I spent together, we did certain “big” things, like she dictated a letter to me that she wanted me to give to her daughter after she moved on–and I know that letter is most precious to her daughter.  We also went through Jane’s eulogy, as she wanted to make sure I shared the gospel of Jesus Christ and that I didn’t make her out to be anything more than a sinner saved my supernatural grace.  Jane seemed satisfied I did both of these things, and she told me she was going to pray to God she would be allowed to be at her celebration of life service to hear her own eulogy–and I believe she really was.  Several weeks after Jane’s service, my little girl told me there was something she’d been wanting to tell me about Ms. Jane.  When I asked what it was, my daughter said, “She was there.”  “What do you mean?” I asked.  “Ms. Jane was there, at the service, Mom.”  “Oh,” I said, “you mean the video they were playing of Ms. Jane’s life.”  I said this because such a video was playing on a screen as people came in to be seated that day.  “No, Mom.  Ms. Jane was there.  I’m not talking about that video.”  “What are you talking about?” I asked, somewhat exasperated.  “She was there, Mom, the whole time.  I’m telling you.  I saw her with my own two eyes”  (as if she could see her with anyone else’s, I thought).  “And you know I don’t lie, Mom.  I never, ever lie.  I just didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t sure you would believe me.”

My daughter says that she saw Ms. Jane up high above all the people in the church that day.  Other than the fact that Jane was wearing white, she couldn’t give me any other details.  All she could do was assure me over and over again that Ms. Jane was there.  I’m not sure what my little girl saw that day but I am sure that God tells us to come to him as children.  What more would we be able to see if we could find a way to do so?  How many more miracles, how much more of the supernatural, would we see all around us if only we’d really believe anything is possible?  Jane taught me to believe this, not just through her life, but even more so through her “death;” and Jane taught me too how to celebrate life and death.  Before our season of friendship, I would probably have said that celebrating the death of someone you dearly love was impossible; but Jane made me promise to do so, and she helped equip me to do so.

God has taught me so much through my friend–like the importance of trusting him and his timing, the importance of viewing life and death from an eternal perspective, the importance of having a childlike faith–and of course she taught me much about the importance of discipleship.  Jane spent many of her last breaths down here molding me into a woman more after God’s own heart; and she was honest with me the whole time about how very hard it can be to stay faithful and finish strong in this life here.  And she didn’t always give me neat and tidy answers to my questions and doubts; life’s messy because we’re messy, and Jane didn’t try to hide that.  She was a woman of God who really wasn’t afraid to be “real.”

As I thought about my much-missed friend, I thought about the gospel.  Even though we Christians do and well should remember how Jesus lived, we are explicitly told, commanded even, in Scripture to remember something quite different–we are to remember how Jesus died.  Jesus’ “acts” while down here on planet earth don’t set us apart from every other religion–only his final “act” does.  His death and resurrection are the game-changers.  I know of so many smart, learned people (like Gandhi even) who were incredibly impressed with how Jesus lived his life and even went so far as to model his practices.  And that’s great; but, if we choose to live exactly how Jesus lived yet never fully embrace his death and resurrection, then we haven’t chosen to live at all.  Jane chose to live.  And that’s why, even though I’ve been a Christian a long time, I feel like Jane’s death is the first one I’ve ever truly celebrated.  And it wasn’t at all for the reason so many around me seemed to think; it wasn’t because she was so very sick physically.  I could truly celebrate my friend’s, my dearest “Naomi’s,” change of address because she was so very well spiritually.