41 Hours to the Cross

More than 15 years ago now, I spent many days in a hospital room taking care of my mother when her time on earth was coming to an end.  I slept in the bed beside her, fed her, bathed her, washed her hair, helped her brush her teeth, massaged her neck, talked to her, watched over her, and tried to comfort her during her pain and confusion.  The emotions we all experienced during this time ran the gamut.  My mother had not gone into this hospital to die.  It was just another step in the process of getting her better, or so we thought.  None of us, me or my three siblings, misunderstood the severity of the cancer that ravaged her body.  Yet we were slow to accept the truth about how little time she had left.  The reality of that fact would weigh heavier on me than anything I had ever faced before.  So heavy, I all but crumbled beneath it.

The last five days of her life began with the hope and perception of just getting her past the crisis she was currently facing and discussing treatment options for the battle that lay ahead.  The next day brought a new set of problems, then the next hour.  She was in pain, and on a morphine drip.  As one of the nurses had explained to me, every 15 minutes we could push a button on the IV and it would give her a certain amount of medication.  If the button had not been pushed within a certain amount of time at the top of that 15 minute interval, the IV would automatically lock you out until the next 15 minute interval arrived.  It was late, my siblings were not there at this time, but several family members were hole up with me for the night.  I was the trigger man.  It was my job to push the button every 15 minutes so my mother could rest comfortably.

Sometime deep in the night, I was overcome with the need for sleep.  I realized I was not going to be able to fulfill my duty as trigger man the entire night, so I began to try and wake others to take over for me.  It was useless.  Everyone else was so tired, I wasn’t even successful in waking anyone up fully.  I was on my own, and I knew I was in trouble.  I splashed cold water on my face several times and manned my station.  The last time I checked the clock it was five minutes until top of the hour.  I could administer the medication at the top of the hour.  I closed my eyes for just a second, and when I opened them again, it was five minutes after the hour.  I had missed the deadline.  I pushed the button anxiously, but I was locked out.  I was devastated.  Just devastated.  How could I possibly have been so irresponsible?  I thought of all the things my mother had done for me my whole life, and I couldn’t even do this one simple thing for her.  I sat quietly in the chair next to her bed, looking out the window into the empty abyss the night had created, and tears streamed down my face.  I would not forgive myself for this selfish blunder.

I think of Jesus in this same way.  After all the things He has done for me, how could I not do anything He needed?  After my mother died, I spent a long time in the desert.  The spiritual desert I mean.  The Lord was always with me, but I had lost my way.  My mother was a wonderful person, staunch Christian, and a loving mother and wife.  But, Jesus is the one who died for me.  He suffered torture and death for me.  He took on the sins of the whole world just to set me free!  (1 Peter 2:24)  How could I not do for Him?  As I began to accept the reality that I had never really picked up my cross to follow Him, I was devastated.  The weight of it, almost crushed me.  His voice called to me, and I kept coming back to this comparison between my mother and Him.  When I was finally able to acknowledge and understand what this meant, I picked up the broken pieces of myself and brought them to the altar of the Lord.  Only He could put them back together and make my life whole again.

We are commanded to serve the Lord.  But be sure to fear the LORD and serve him faithfully with all your heart; consider what great things he has done for you, 1 Samuel 12:24.   To serve Him, we must take up our cross, as He did for us.  Our cross is found in our particular gift, whatever that may be.  It is different for all of us.  God gives us all certain gifts.  I adore art, yet I cannot paint.  He gave that gift to others, like Michelangelo.  He intends for us to use our gifts to glorify Him.  Whatever your gift is, accept your calling.  Serve the Lord with the gifts He has blessed you with.  He will bless you the more for it.

Back in the hospital with my mom, I did not sleep one wink after my little fiasco.  I tried once, but it was horrible.  I absolutely could not sleep, even if I wanted to.  41 hours.  I was wide awake for 41 hours.  41 of the longest hours of my life.  Her last breath brought with it a strange sense of relief, followed by great sorrow.  Intermingled in my sadness and grief was a feeling of peace and tranquility.  The kind of peace and tranquility only felt through the Holy Spirit, and with that…I was able to sleep for the first time in 41 hours.

Then Jesus said to His disciples, “If anyone wants to come with Me, he must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me.  For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life because of Me will find it.  What will it benefit a man if he gains the whole world yet loses his life? Or what will a man give in exchange for his life?

Matthew 16:24-26