SOME OF MY DEEPEST THINKING

As I sat beside the bed of one of the men from our church, only an hour before he went to be with the Lord, it occurred to me that my deepest thinking took place in such a setting. I held his hand and sang some hymns to him. He loved the hymns even though a stroke had put a stop to recognizable words coming from his lips. He and I would sing together. He would harmonize with his strange language and tears filling his eyes. We laughed together. I worked hard to get him to be able to say a few words.

Now, it was time for him to leave this earth and I knew it. His eyes were closed. I wasn’t sure if he knew I was there, but I talked to him and prayed for him and sang some more. And as I ministered to him, the reality and the truth about life was before me.

This moment in the life of Robert was the defining moment and I was pressed with the certainty that no moment in the life of anyone was more important than the one where they breathe their last breath. I remember thinking, “This is the nitty gritty.” Nothing else about Robert…where he was born, how much money he had, what color he was, how famous he was…nothing else mattered at this moment. These thoughts solemnly impressed upon me the urgency to continue reaching the elderly.

Thoughts of my kids went through my mind. I wished they were there with me because there was really nothing else like that experience that could straighten out one’s priorities and effect positive change in a person’s character. Nearly indescribable gratitude filled my soul for the Word of God and for the clear and unbending assurance that God provides to put a person at rest on the subjects of death and eternity. One of my favorite verses came to mind: “These things have I written that you may know that you have eternal life.” With tears in my eyes, I stayed close to this man I had grown to love and honor, and though death seemed so close and so bizarre, I was sure beyond a doubt that Robert would soon see Christ.

There have been other times like this one where as I sat either talking softly to a very ill person or looking down on their thin, frail and almost lifeless bodies, I was ushered into the real “Real World.” Had I said things I needed to say to my kids? What would my husband remember about me if God should call me home? Was I really getting the picture of the serious task of telling the story of Christ?

There was always a decision being made as to how far my interactions with these elderly people were going to take me. I remember Jane, frail, blind. I didn’t know quite what to say, so I chatted lightly, and gently rubbed her shoulders and back. In the middle of our little conversation, she stopped abruptly and in her English accent asked, “Whose hands are these?” She held me in her grasp. I told her they were mine. She said almost frantically, “No, whose hands are these?” I again told her they were mine. “No, these are God’s hands!” Stunned, I leaned over her, having no words to say. In my heart and mind, I did a very intense and quick “ponder.” Of course they were my hands! Yet, slowly and permanently, the truth of that moment became part of the real Sharon Heldman.

Who could not help but go beyond the normal shallow brain activity of our day in such surroundings? Perhaps the secret is to schedule a part of your life to be in a place away from the frivolities of life, to spend time where circumstances are serious.