On a Monday evening I got a call from my friend Brent, “John, come quickly to the healthcare unit. She is going fast.” I got dressed, jumped into the car, hustled to the healthcare unit, walked down the hall and entered the room. It was packed with family. They parted like the sea to let me through as I walked to the bedside. There I knelt beside their mother and mother-in-law, their grandmother — Anise.
She was barely breathing; her pulse was weak. Kneeling by the bedside and leaning very closely, I spoke to her, walking her through John 14. “Anise, you know Jesus is preparing a place for you, a place big and spacious, with lots of rooms and loved ones. He has promised to come and get you and take you home with him, to your new home. It is all right to let go, Anise. Jesus will come and get you.”
Then, as we gathered around the bed, holding hands or touching her, I prayed. I prayed for release and freedom for this precious woman of 92 years, this woman of faith. Upon the “Amen,” we opened our eyes. Anise was still, very still. No breath. No pulse. Anise had entered eternity, the fullness of God’s grace.
The room was still, the silence broken only by gentle sobbing and brushing away of the tears — good-bye tears, grateful tears, faithful tears. It was a holy moment, a sacred time. The room was a sanctuary, and God had shown up.
After a long, reverent quiet, we began to embrace one another, while others slipped out to call extended family. However, that moment, that sacred moment when prayer ushered our loved one into the full grace of God, would remain with us forever. It was a moment when we knew God was present … we KNEW God was present.
We cannot program such moments. But, prayer prepares us for them; it opens our hearts to the holy invasion of God. And when such a moment comes, you’ll know … you will KNOW.
JOHN G. HAMILTON is pastor of First Church, Rochelle, Ill.
