God Doesn’t Dawdle
© Patty Fitts. All rights reserved.
Lester, a New Yorker, rough around the edges, was accustomed to being in charge. He wanted to see a chaplain and was very specific about my appointment with him, so I made a point of being on time. Entering his modest home, I followed the sound of his voice from the back bedroom, and began to make my way through an amazing trail of antiques, crafts, and an array of “Americana.” Unlike the clutter of patient’s homes which are filled with items collected over the years, this was different. Every room, hallway, and even the bathroom, from wall to ceiling, and including the ceilings, was filled to capacity. As a dutiful husband I had traipsed through nearly every craft and antique store my wife spotted in our travels. This collection would easily have filled two or three of those establishments. My curiosity heightened as I approached the darkened, cave-like bedroom.
Sitting on the bed, a gaunt, bearded man stared at me from beneath a baseball cap. Three dogs yipped either a warning or a welcome. They were immediately silenced and banished by their master’s stern command. Turning his attention to me, his voice softened as he directed me to sit in a nearby chair. I was prepared to follow the dogs in obedience. The next few moments were routine small talk, getting acquainted, with obligatory references to the massive collection that filled the house. Then, remembering that I had been summoned for a purpose, I asked, “How can I help you?”
“I want to know about God, and how to go to heaven.” Startled by the directness, I suspected the presence of a hidden recording device, or thought I might be on “Candid Camera.” He explained that a few months previously he had been diagnosed with lung cancer. At its advanced stage the doctors gave him little hope that any treatment would be successful. The alternative they suggested was admission to hospice so that he could remain at home, manage the pain, and make the time left more comfortable.
“I have met the nurse, the aide, and the counselor. They seem to be very well trained and have seen to most of my needs. Now I want you to help me prepare for the next phase of my life.”
“Lester, I appreciate your directness and I’ll be more than happy to try to help. Tell me what brought you to this point in your life. Tell me about the other ‘phases.’”
“Well,” he began, “the first phase lasted about fifty years and nearly ended it all. My father was a New York policeman, but was corrupt. I became acquainted at an early age with the way to get things done. After high school I went into the construction business and became familiar with payoffs, kickbacks, bribes, and all the rest. I attended a formal banquet once at a convention and it looked like the who’s who of organized crime.”
“I tried starting a restaurant and for a while it went well. It had a seafaring theme, which is where I picked up a lot of the signs and trove of these seafaring antiques. But things began going badly, and I began drinking more and more. After a few years I almost destroyed myself with the booze. The business went under and my wife finally left me. I ran out of options and was near to taking my own life. But then at forty-eight I entered a rehab program down on the other side of Florida. There were sixty-seven who started the program. Today there are only two of us who stayed sober. That was phase one.”
“I moved over here to the west coast and settled down. I became the manager of an apartment complex, and in my spare time, made the rounds of the flea markets, garage sales, and antique stores. I didn’t always know what I was buying, but gradually built this collection. Then I started getting into making things myself, all sorts of crafts, especially bits of ‘Americana.’ I have boxes of boards painted like American flags, and boxes of red, white and blue dowels made to look like firecrackers. It took a little extra work to make them look worn and old, but you’d be surprised how fast they sell.”
“After a couple of years I met Sue Ann, a wonderful lady from Minnesota, who was just leaving a bad marriage of her own. I found a real treasure in this one. She has been wonderful. She helped me begin a new life and find happiness. That’s phase two.”
“John,” he said as he looked me in the eyes, his thin sunken features telling the story. “I know I’m dying. It won’t be long. I know what I deserve as a result of the early years of my life and that the last seventeen don’t make up for that. Even with the changes I’ve made, I don’t believe that it is enough. I want to be ready to die . . . to know what’s next. Can you help me?”
“Lester,” I said. “I’m a chaplain, not an evangelist. It’s not my job to impose my beliefs on you. But I am willing to help you discover what will answer the deep questions you have about God and the afterlife. Would you mind me sharing some things I’ve learned with you?”
“That’s why I asked for you. You are the expert, the one with the knowledge and experience to help me. Please.”
For the remainder of that visit we talked about the grace of God, a topic of which he knew very little, but for him held great appeal. That God could, or even would, forgive him for his past sins seemed almost unbelievable to him. He was like a thirsty man who suddenly found a cool spring of water. Fervor gave way to fatigue, however, and we agreed to meet the next week.
Lester and I continued exploring God’s love and grace. He asked questions and we searched the Scriptures for answers. The Bible had been neglected and discounted as useless his whole life. Now the words were living. As is often the case, he expressed regret for a lie wasted, but then would see the hand of God in bringing him to a point where he could find mercy. We would end each session with a word of prayer.
I noticed a gradual decline in Lester’s physical condition with each visit. He had more than the average amount of pain with his disease, a constant challenge for the nurse. Often the discomfort made Lester more irritable than usual. Sue Ann told me that Lester looked forward to our visits and there was obviously a growing bond between us.
Finally Lester could no longer tolerate our lengthy discussions. We would talk about his collection of antiques and their uses. One day at the end of our visit Lester asked if he could pray. It was the first time. I gladly bowed my head and listened to his simple words hesitantly tumble out.
There came a day when Lester was growing weary with the battle against the pain. At the end of our brief visit he asked if I would pray with him. Sensing that he had something specific in mind, I asked if there was a special request.
“John, “he said, “ask God not to make me linger. I’m ready to go. I don’t want to just hang on like this.”
And so I prayed, imploring God that he not “dawdle,” that He would take Lester home to be with Him. And then I said goodbye.
The next morning at the office, before heading out to see patients, I learned from the evening nurse that Lester had been taken to the hospital during the night due to extreme pain. I stopped in at the hospital to see him. He was groggy from the medication, but Sue Ann filled me in on the details. She said he was in agony and the nurse suggested that she call 911. With an IV drip the medication had at last begun to bring some comfort to him. In spite of his resistance to leaving his home, plans were readied to have him stay in the hospital one more day and then move him to the Hospice residence facility called Woodside where they could more adequately see to his needs.
On Friday morning Lester entered the bell lap of the race. He had a weekend adjusting to the new situation and entertained, though weakly, a few visitors. His spirits lifted with the decrease of pain. Tuesday morning, on my way to see patients, I stopped in to see how he was doing. A nurse stopped me on the way down the hall and pulled me aside.
She said, “John, are you going to see Lester?”
“Yes,” I replied, “why?”
“He died at about 5:30 this morning.”
I was stunned. It’s not that I was unaccustomed to patients passing away. As a hospice chaplain that is an unfortunate but common occurrence. I walked to the nurses’ station and dialed his home number to speak with Sue Ann.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “I had no idea he would go quite so soon.”
“Oh, John, I wanted to tell you myself. It was peaceful and we had such a good day yesterday. He had some friends in to visit and he enjoyed seeing them. It does seem strange that he went so soon.”
I finished offering comfort to Sue Ann, and then as I hung up the phone I remembered the visit the previous Thursday when Lester asked me to pray for him. “John, ask God not to make me linger.” Then I realized that God had indeed answered that prayer. God didn’t dawdle.
© 2012 John C. Fitts, III . All rights reserved.
Sitting on the bed, a gaunt, bearded man stared at me from beneath a baseball cap. Three dogs yipped either a warning or a welcome. They were immediately silenced and banished by their master’s stern command. Turning his attention to me, his voice softened as he directed me to sit in a nearby chair. I was prepared to follow the dogs in obedience. The next few moments were routine small talk, getting acquainted, with obligatory references to the massive collection that filled the house. Then, remembering that I had been summoned for a purpose, I asked, “How can I help you?”
“I want to know about God, and how to go to heaven.” Startled by the directness, I suspected the presence of a hidden recording device, or thought I might be on “Candid Camera.” He explained that a few months previously he had been diagnosed with lung cancer. At its advanced stage the doctors gave him little hope that any treatment would be successful. The alternative they suggested was admission to hospice so that he could remain at home, manage the pain, and make the time left more comfortable.
“I have met the nurse, the aide, and the counselor. They seem to be very well trained and have seen to most of my needs. Now I want you to help me prepare for the next phase of my life.”
“Lester, I appreciate your directness and I’ll be more than happy to try to help. Tell me what brought you to this point in your life. Tell me about the other ‘phases.’”
“Well,” he began, “the first phase lasted about fifty years and nearly ended it all. My father was a New York policeman, but was corrupt. I became acquainted at an early age with the way to get things done. After high school I went into the construction business and became familiar with payoffs, kickbacks, bribes, and all the rest. I attended a formal banquet once at a convention and it looked like the who’s who of organized crime.”
“I tried starting a restaurant and for a while it went well. It had a seafaring theme, which is where I picked up a lot of the signs and trove of these seafaring antiques. But things began going badly, and I began drinking more and more. After a few years I almost destroyed myself with the booze. The business went under and my wife finally left me. I ran out of options and was near to taking my own life. But then at forty-eight I entered a rehab program down on the other side of Florida. There were sixty-seven who started the program. Today there are only two of us who stayed sober. That was phase one.”
“I moved over here to the west coast and settled down. I became the manager of an apartment complex, and in my spare time, made the rounds of the flea markets, garage sales, and antique stores. I didn’t always know what I was buying, but gradually built this collection. Then I started getting into making things myself, all sorts of crafts, especially bits of ‘Americana.’ I have boxes of boards painted like American flags, and boxes of red, white and blue dowels made to look like firecrackers. It took a little extra work to make them look worn and old, but you’d be surprised how fast they sell.”
“After a couple of years I met Sue Ann, a wonderful lady from Minnesota, who was just leaving a bad marriage of her own. I found a real treasure in this one. She has been wonderful. She helped me begin a new life and find happiness. That’s phase two.”
“John,” he said as he looked me in the eyes, his thin sunken features telling the story. “I know I’m dying. It won’t be long. I know what I deserve as a result of the early years of my life and that the last seventeen don’t make up for that. Even with the changes I’ve made, I don’t believe that it is enough. I want to be ready to die . . . to know what’s next. Can you help me?”
“Lester,” I said. “I’m a chaplain, not an evangelist. It’s not my job to impose my beliefs on you. But I am willing to help you discover what will answer the deep questions you have about God and the afterlife. Would you mind me sharing some things I’ve learned with you?”
“That’s why I asked for you. You are the expert, the one with the knowledge and experience to help me. Please.”
For the remainder of that visit we talked about the grace of God, a topic of which he knew very little, but for him held great appeal. That God could, or even would, forgive him for his past sins seemed almost unbelievable to him. He was like a thirsty man who suddenly found a cool spring of water. Fervor gave way to fatigue, however, and we agreed to meet the next week.
Lester and I continued exploring God’s love and grace. He asked questions and we searched the Scriptures for answers. The Bible had been neglected and discounted as useless his whole life. Now the words were living. As is often the case, he expressed regret for a lie wasted, but then would see the hand of God in bringing him to a point where he could find mercy. We would end each session with a word of prayer.
I noticed a gradual decline in Lester’s physical condition with each visit. He had more than the average amount of pain with his disease, a constant challenge for the nurse. Often the discomfort made Lester more irritable than usual. Sue Ann told me that Lester looked forward to our visits and there was obviously a growing bond between us.
Finally Lester could no longer tolerate our lengthy discussions. We would talk about his collection of antiques and their uses. One day at the end of our visit Lester asked if he could pray. It was the first time. I gladly bowed my head and listened to his simple words hesitantly tumble out.
There came a day when Lester was growing weary with the battle against the pain. At the end of our brief visit he asked if I would pray with him. Sensing that he had something specific in mind, I asked if there was a special request.
“John, “he said, “ask God not to make me linger. I’m ready to go. I don’t want to just hang on like this.”
And so I prayed, imploring God that he not “dawdle,” that He would take Lester home to be with Him. And then I said goodbye.
The next morning at the office, before heading out to see patients, I learned from the evening nurse that Lester had been taken to the hospital during the night due to extreme pain. I stopped in at the hospital to see him. He was groggy from the medication, but Sue Ann filled me in on the details. She said he was in agony and the nurse suggested that she call 911. With an IV drip the medication had at last begun to bring some comfort to him. In spite of his resistance to leaving his home, plans were readied to have him stay in the hospital one more day and then move him to the Hospice residence facility called Woodside where they could more adequately see to his needs.
On Friday morning Lester entered the bell lap of the race. He had a weekend adjusting to the new situation and entertained, though weakly, a few visitors. His spirits lifted with the decrease of pain. Tuesday morning, on my way to see patients, I stopped in to see how he was doing. A nurse stopped me on the way down the hall and pulled me aside.
She said, “John, are you going to see Lester?”
“Yes,” I replied, “why?”
“He died at about 5:30 this morning.”
I was stunned. It’s not that I was unaccustomed to patients passing away. As a hospice chaplain that is an unfortunate but common occurrence. I walked to the nurses’ station and dialed his home number to speak with Sue Ann.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “I had no idea he would go quite so soon.”
“Oh, John, I wanted to tell you myself. It was peaceful and we had such a good day yesterday. He had some friends in to visit and he enjoyed seeing them. It does seem strange that he went so soon.”
I finished offering comfort to Sue Ann, and then as I hung up the phone I remembered the visit the previous Thursday when Lester asked me to pray for him. “John, ask God not to make me linger.” Then I realized that God had indeed answered that prayer. God didn’t dawdle.
© 2012 John C. Fitts, III . All rights reserved.
