Praying 'til Pentecost: The Next Great Awakening
<Original post: April 22, 2015>
My brother Ken called me, and shared the news we were expecting to hear about my Dad. He died at 5:32 PM.
My grief began with a sigh of relief. I must confess it was an odd mixture of sadness and gladness. Dad's final hours were spent struggling for breath. It is hard to explain the feelings of grief and relief that converged in my heart, when I heard Dad finally crossed over the threshold, from his earthly home to his Heavenly home.
When Dad died, he was listening to the soft, soothing words of a great old song. “Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling…Come Home!” He may not have heard the words of the song, but Dad heard the voice of Jesus call him. He was so ready to go home.
My sister called me. Joy put my mother on the phone, and I heard her gentle voice, so weary, but so full of hope and relief. Mom said softly, “Dad’s safe at home. We have so much to be grateful for.”
Scripture is so incredibly spot-on when it comes to this moment in life.
“You will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope.” 1 Thessalonians 4:13)
Indeed, we don’t. We have hope, but we do grieve. We haven't lost Dad. We know exactly where to find him. Trust me. There is hope in that.
Just seven days ago, Dad experienced a heart attack that accelerated his pace to the finish line of his earthly race. Ninety-three years had taken a toll on his frail body. He was already weakened by Stage IV kidney failure, and congestive heart failure. Both were complicated by a severely restricted aortic valve. Dad had fought the good fight, but this was the last round.
Following the massive damage from the heart attack, Dad’s health continued to deteriorate, as he was moved from one care unit after another. From ER, CVICU, Palliative Care, and finally to Hospice Care, in each place he left a vapor trail of grace.
Everywhere he was taken, Dad extended words of blessing and gratitude to all who cared for him. He remained calm, even when they were digging into his thin arms seeking veins that were shrinking or collapsing.
Dad's last nurse at the hospital told him, “You are a rock star.” He just smiled, and said, “Oh, I don’t know about that.” I told her, “The real truth is, Dad is a rock.” He has always been mine.
For the past seven days, Dad has been reaching toward a threshold. It was unseen by us, but it was very real to him.
One night, after a particularly restless night in the Palliative Care unit of Baylor All-Saints, Dad awakened. He called my name. I stood over him, and heard him say, “You know I’ve almost konked off two or three times.” I told him we were all aware of his struggle. He said, “I have been reaching out to the threshold.” I asked him what he had seen. Dad calmly said, “I saw Him in all His glory and His majesty. I saw my Momma and my Dad waving at me.” I believe he did.
For the past week my brothers, Roger and Ken, and my sister Joy, have been walking with my mother, Libby, though the most difficult days of our lives. Mom has been caring for Dad, watching over him, holding his hand as he takes his last breaths on this side of Heaven.
For seventy years, Mom and Dad have held hands through an amazing journey that has taken them all over the world, and to over 1,000 churches in America. They served TWOgether as pastors, church planters, evangelists, and prayer warriors. Only Heaven truly knows the full extent of their ministry.
One day this week, I was touched to see Dad turn to Mom and say to her, “We have had a wonderful journey.” She quietly responded, “It has been wonderful.” Dad was truly amazed by their love for one another right up until the very end. True love not only waits, it lasts.
One morning over a cup of coffee in the hospice unit, Dad spoke of Momma one more time. “To think that God would take two little people like us and melt us together is indescribable. Oh, my soul!”
One of Dad’s constant calls to us, in his more lucid moments was, “Take care of Momma.” I was relieved to hear him say at some point during his last days, “Momma is going to be just fine.” I believe a voice, from another realm calmed his concern, and prepared him to let go and “Come home.” Thank you, Jesus.
All four of us, Roger, Gary, Joy and Ken have agreed that ministering to Dad during these last days has been one of the greatest privileges we have ever been given. It has been a painful process, but we would have hated to have missed out on it. Those words are hard to say, difficult to believe, but true to the core.
Roger was with Dad in the early morning hours on Tuesday. He saw Dad moving around in the bed and asked, “Dad, where are you going?” Roger heard Dad’s final words, “Almost to Glory.” With that Dad fell into a coma, and the final stage of his fight began.
My brother Ken was with Dad when he took his last breath. Dad crossed over the invisible threshold, and into the visible Glory of God. He passed through a very thin veil separating “Almost to Glory” and “Into His Glory.” Mom said it so well, “Dad is safe at home.” Indeed he is.
When Dad died, it was 5:32 PM on a Wednesday evening. Perhaps Dad wanted to be on time for Prayer Meeting in Heaven. He always liked to be early.
This has been a holy week for our family. Roger, Joy, Ken and I have tasted the bittersweet dregs of this experience in every sense of the word. The sense of holiness has not removed the great sense of loss, or minimized the pain of the process for any of us, especially Mom.
At this point a question remains in my mind, “Now what?” Dad’s greatest longing was to see the next Great Awakening in his lifetime. He prayed for it daily, and had hope in his heart for it, right up to the very last.
Dad often said, “Prayer is the vestibule of Heaven.” He believed, “Prayer is the priority, and the greatest treasure of the church. One of his last challenges to me was, "Awakening, a great movement of God, is available for the asking. I believe I will see it in my life time, perhaps even in the next moment.”
Will you join Dad in praying for it? He believed the next Great Awakening is just a prayer away. Perhaps yours will be the tipping point.
Thank you for praying for us during this past week. When he was told people were praying for him, Dad always said, "I can feel them.”
Now I know what he meant. We thank you for praying, and we thank God for showing us His mercy and grace this week. We have been fully covered by His Presence, and Dad is standing in His Presence. It is well.
TALK LESS! PRAY MORE!