A tear appears in my brother’s eye. It wells up before spilling over, trickling down his cheek as I kiss him on the forehead to say goodbye. He lies immobile in his bed, ALS having attacked him relentlessly, rendering his muscles useless, reducing his voice to a whisper. Soon, he will be unable to speak.
I lean in once more to hear what he says, “Will you be back?”
The truth is, I don’t know and don’t want to tell him, so I prevaricate: “I hope so.”
I’d spent several days with him, on this, our third visit this summer. Now, it’s time for me to leave. Is this my last goodbye?
Mark now receives nutrition through a feeding tube. (When Lori asked him about the feeding tube, he grinned, “It’s delicious.”) ALS progresses until it takes all voluntary movement: muscles weaken, leading to paralysis, eventually immobilizing the voice, the ability to swallow, and ultimately, breathing itself.
I shared with Mark how our oldest brother, Lowell, and I had talked of Heaven before he died from Merkel cell carcinoma.
Heaven is something of a mystery, but the Scriptures assure us that it’s a real place where we will know fully, even as we are known (1 Corinthians 13:12). That includes knowing each other. Samuel appeared in some recognizable form to Saul (1 Samuel 28:15-19). And Moses and Elijah recognized each other on the Mt. of Transfiguration. I thought of the preacher’s words I’d heard years ago, “We won’t be any dumber in heaven than we are here.”
Our “forever family” will gather around us in Heaven. It will take us eons to get to know all of them.
But then, time as we know it will be no more. We will be serving, too, not idle, hanging around on a cloud. Best of all, we will behold the face of our Lord: “The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him. They will see his face” (Revelation 22:3-4).
I’m not sure how God will restore relationships, but there will be no remembrance of things that bring sadness, for there will be “no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away” (Revelation 21:4).
For those dying (and we all are), it’s a step of faith to trust that God will take care of those we leave behind. The Holy Spirit is far more capable of looking after our family than we are. He can be with all of them when we can’t, and His counsel never fails.
Still, it’s sad to leave.
I shared with Mark that it’s similar to when I visited him. I didn’t want to leave my family back in Kentucky. I dreaded the journey. The airlines could delay my flight (they did), causing me to miss my connection. They might lose my luggage. My plane might even crash.
But I looked forward to seeing family and friends, and staying in a comfortable place. And so, by faith, I got on the plane.
God will see us safely home in Heaven. It’s the ultimate destination with perfect accommodations. Plus, we will be surrounded by family and friends, in the very presence of the Lord, who will give us exciting assignments. So, we look forward. The best is yet to come. If we dwell on who and what we are leaving, we live in regret and sadness.
Getting there can be difficult, but by God’s grace, we will arrive safely and on time: God’s perfect time.
After telling Mark I hoped I would be back, I added: “One thing is for certain: I WILL see you, either back here in Altus (Oklahoma) or in Heaven.”
One place is temporary; the other is permanent.
That’s good enough for now. And forever