Room 130

For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, 2 Corinthians 5:1-2.

For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. Philippians 1:21.

It was 2:58 AM when we got the call. “She is fading fast can you get here soon?” was the message on the other end of the phone. We had gone home nearly eleven hours earlier knowing the end was near. She was ninety-five.

We hurriedly dressed, and in the still of the night when most of our side of the world was sleeping we made what would become one of our last journeys that had been the weekly ebb and flow of our lives for over 3 years. Mostly we were quiet as we drove our familiar forty-five minute path. It was a trip we had made so many times we could almost do it in our sleep. And now, we were making it while the world slept.

Silence was interrupted by occasional questions, “How did we get here so fast?” “Where did the time go?” Waves and floods of memories began to flow, that had spanned our lifetimes, as we neared our journey’s end.

Lucile was the most gracious and giving person I have met. Suffering and affliction had taught her well and it was evident by the way she lived her life. She knew pain and she knew loss. She learned patience as she waited three years for her husband to return home from the beaches of the South Pacific beaten and worn from the trauma of war. She understood sacrifice when she and Chuck took family members into their home and cared for them in their later years. Over the years, as arthritis began to gnarl her hands and back pain became persistent she did not flinch or complain. She pressed on spilling mercy and love into the lives of those around her.

Just as Lu was gracious in living she was gracious in dying. She loved Psalm 23 and had memorized it over the last year or so. Every visit she wanted to say it and have Psalm 100 and 103 read to her. Even in her final days when her body was wasting away and her strength to speak was nearly gone I could see her try to mouth the words as Byron read them to her.

It was 4 AM when we arrived. The stillness of silence was loud, but there was only one thing that mattered. Grasping her old and gnarled hand for the last time we bent over her bed and into her ear said, “Lu, we are here, we love you, Jesus loves you.” Life was draining from her body in a very visible way. In the stillness of night and a dimly lit room at 4:15 AM that Sunday morning God was very busy at work as Lu breathed her last breath, left her earthly tent, and entered into eternity. Tears of sorrow and joy mingled as we quietly wept and pondered the bitter sweetness of death. Loss is gain. Loss reminds us of the fact that she will be missed. Gain reminds us of our eternal home. It is only one breath away.

In the coming days and years, as I think about Lu, I will remember how she lived and died graciously. The character qualities of mercy, patience, grace, goodness, and perseverance that she modeled have left a deep impression on me. She lived her life well. So too, must I.