More about the last lesson Dad taught me...
The prayer was on a Sunday night. That Wednesday, Mom called me at work and said Dad wasn’t feeling very well and had a slight fever. As she shared her concern a brief thought surfaced and I almost said, “Maybe we shouldn’t be surprised.” But I didn’t. We had seen dozens of fevers come and go, with as many infections, in recent years. It was probably just the current round.
Two days later, Dad was in the hospital. He was extremely ill; his infection was not responding to the antibiotics this time. His wife, daughters, son-in-laws, grandkids, and great-grandchild were gathered around him singing hymns, thanking him for his love and example, and praying with him. I watched in wonder and awe. Was God really going to take him home now? So soon, like we prayed for just last Sunday?
Dad had always been a praying man... His mom and dad were missionaries in Africa back in the 1920s, when they took my newborn dad by dugout canoe into an African village, where he lived until he was eight years old. His first pets were a monkey and a lamb. His first language was Norwegian, since his parents were originally from Norway, where Dad was born. This was not a usual American childhood, but one full of his parents’ love, and full of prayer to a God he was taught to know and love. He carried this belief in God throughout his entire life but never was it more significant than at the end of his life.
Well, Dad had a fighting body, he always had, and he made it through Friday night. Saturday night as my Mom, sisters, and I said goodnight to Dad and prayed with him before we left the hospital, he asked, again, that we pray he would go soon. This time he asked to be gone by morning. I left thinking, “This will surely be the night.” God answers this man’s prayers!
When I awoke Sunday morning I felt sad. There had been no call during the night. God had said no. Dad had to face another day of pain. I arrived at his hospital room early. It was dark and he was asleep. As I sat in the quiet and prayed, I wondered...how would Dad be feeling? Sad? Discouraged? He had been through so much, and I was very sorry that his request had been denied. In fact, I was a little mad at God. “Here’s a man who wants so very much to be released from this life. Why don’t you take him, God?” I thought.
His hospital door opened, a light went on, and in walked his capable male nurse, who just happened to be a believer. “Good morning, Harold!” he cheerfully called out to wake Dad. I cringed at his joyous greeting on this not-so-joyous morning. The nurse had no idea of the evening prayer or of my discouragement and continued, “It’s Sunday! ‘This is the day that the Lord has made.’” I cringed a bit more and then I heard it. Dad’s feeble voice was finishing the verse the nurse began. “We will rejoice and be glad in it,” he said. I was stunned. How could Dad say that? Not today. Didn’t he know God had denied his request and sentenced him to at least one more day of suffering?
The nurse left and I rose from my chair and walked over to his bed. I took his hand and looked into his eyes. As I did so, I wondered how much discouragement and sadness I would find. His gaze locked into mine and he said in a hoarse, weak voice, “You can’t order Him around.” “What?” I asked, not sure what I had heard. “You can’t order Him around…God.” And his eyes closed from the strain of talking.
I was speechless. Dad knew I was frustrated and wanted to remind me that God was God. I thought it took amazing faith to pray the evening prayer with belief, but it didn’t come close to the faith I witnessed that morning. Blessed are those who believe, though they do not see... God had told Dad, “Not yet, Harold,” and Dad had said, “Okay, you know best. I don’t understand it, but I’ll trust you and praise you anyway. You made this day and I will rejoice and be glad in it.” Dad was not mad at God even though Dad was lying in pain on the opposite side of the eternity he desperately longed for. He acknowledged God’s sovereignty. It didn’t keep him from asking for what his heart desired, but he didn’t give up or get mad when God said no. My Dad was still teaching me what faith in God looks like. I still had a lot to learn…
(Continued in the next post…soon...)
No comments:
Post a Comment