Never Alone

 Hello Friends!

As promised, here are a couple of chapters of the upcoming book, “Stories in Time”. We’re trying to write about people who have experienced identifiable meetings with God in their last moments.  I hope you will be encouraged by these, and by the way, if you know any similar stores, please share them with us. We’ll write up a sample chapter based on your story, and with your permission will include it in the book. 

Here’s the Preface, to give you an idea:

  “Cars eased to the left and the right of the road ahead, as their drivers noticed either the red flashing lights or heard the whoop! whoop! of the siren. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I saw a car hugging our back bumper. My partner, Steve, said, “Gonna have to dob that one in. Ambulance chasers are a menace to traffic.”

“Will do,” I answered, reaching for the radio’s hand-held mic. I called the dispatcher, who in turn called the local police. That poor fellow was about the have a bad day.

Coming to a housing area just south of town, we pulled into a quiet tree-lined street. We shut the siren down to make sure things stayed quiet. It didn’t take long to spot our objective ahead, on the left side of the road. A girl was standing out front, waving both arms frantically. We rolled to a stop at a quaint white house with a long front porch adorned with red metal lawn chairs. The girl ran up to my side of the ambulance and shouted, “She’s inside! She’s inside! Hurry please!”

The sounds of chaos only increased as we came into the living room. About twenty people, from children to older folks, moved about the room in no particular direction, unsure what to do. I remember noticing out of the corner of my eye a large dining table, filled with the remains of what must have been a feast. At one end, a small boy sat, dabbing at a piece of pie on his plate.

The sight of our uniforms, if anything, only increased the cacophony. “Oh my gosh. Has it come to this?” they seemed to be thinking. Some moved out of the way, some pointed to the far side of room while some began a barrage of explanations and questions.

“She just slumped down in her seat.”

“It’s her birthday.”

“Is she okay? What are you going to do?”

Our patient lay on the couch, a vision of supreme serenity in midst of the storm. She was a beautiful, mature lady, reminiscent of a generation or two long past. A string of pearls adorned her neck, held in place by the high collar of a white laced blouse. She was so pale, I thought at first she may have already passed away, but as I reached to take her pulse, her eyes opened and she looked at me. Our eyes met, and the shadow of a smile crossed her lips.

My partner brought in the cot, and between the two of us, we got her situated comfortably, covered with a soft blanket and fastened in with two belts. An oxygen bottle nestled between her feet. All secure, we carried her outside to the ambulance, sliding the cot into place until it clicked firmly in the holders fastened to the floor.

I took my place on a jump seat beside her. As we started for the hospital, I went about the business of checking her vital signs and making sure she was comfortable. She looked directly into my eyes again. There was that smile that seemed to come from her very soul.

“You know, don’t you?”

I’m not sure what prompted me, but I answered immediately, “Yes; I know Jesus Christ as my Savior.”

“Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered, gripping my hand with a strength I wouldn’t have thought possible. Her smile never left her face as the air began to leave her lungs. It was soon apparent that her heart had stopped. Following procedure, I began CPR, not stopping until we reached the hospital and a doctor was able to pronounce it.

That night, I lay in bed with my wife and talked about the experience. It was hard to describe what I was feeling. Melancholy, to be sure, as my thoughts went back to her loving family back at the house, celebrating her 98th birthday and enjoying the blessings of kin, rich in experiences and love. 

But somehow, I couldn’t feel the sadness I should be feeling … not when I remembered her eyes, and her last words, “Thank you, Jesus.”

What did come to my mind was that verse in the Bible, I Corinthians 15:55. “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” At a time like this, the words of the Apostle Paul could not have been more appropriate.”

And moving along, here’s a sample chapter, about our good friend, Kumiko:

When Kumiko was born into a prominent family in the northern part of Japan, she let it be made known from the outset that she would not be moulded into anyone else’s expectations of her. This was demonstrated when she showed an amazing aptitude for skiing, especially as a downhill racer. On the outside, she was the sweet, innocent girl in the kimono whom everyone loved. But to those who knew her best, she was a “velvet brick”: soft on the outside but held together with a determination of steel.

That fact was made apparent when Kumiko’s parents began the process of arranging a marriage for her. In those days, the vast majority of Japanese marriages were arranged, either by the parents or else by a go-between, called in Japanese, a “Nakodo”. These people knew best, after all, and it was considered the only natural thing to do for the sake of the young people. Kumiko smiled, offered a traditional tea ceremony for prospective suitors and presented herself as the perfect bride-to-be. Except that she politely refused every offer that was made.

Then when she met Shinkichi, they soon decided that they had found their soul mates. But when Kumiko brought it up to her parents, it was their turn to bring out the bricks. No way would she marry Shinkichi. He wasn't rich in money or status.  "Love has nothing to do with it", she was reminded.   "Don’t even think about it." 

She smiled, kept serving tea, and kept refusing any and all proposals. This continued for six years, until her parents finally gave in and pronounced their blessing on her and Shinkichi. It helped that her mother by now was also an active Christian.

By now, both had become Christians and were active at Sendai’s main Baptist church when Marsha and I showed up. We introduced ourselves as youth workers and invited anyone interested to join us is establishing a youth ministry in Sendai, using local churches as bases of operation. Truth be known, we had no idea what we were doing, but praying to God for direction.  

After the service, Bob Boatwright, an old veteran missionary who became my mentor, brought Shinkichi and Kumiko up and introduced us. “These folks are young,” he said to them, “and they have a lot to learn about Japan. I’d like you to take them under wing.”

From that moment, Marsha and I were blessed with the best partners in ministry we could have asked for. Shinkichi was the one person who would tell me directly where I was messing up in Japanese, and when we were confronted with cultural impasses, he would explain everything very carefully, and if necessary would speak for me to help iron out my mistakes. Kumiko showed Marsha the labyrinth of mysteries that came with being a woman in Japan.

Then when things began to settle into a routine, they taught us to ski. We taught them how to roast hot dogs in our fireplace.  We had so much fun doing ministry together, the good times and the bad.

This wonderful relationship continued through the years until we were transferred to Australia. Their daughter, Yu Chan, came to visit, and we had a wonderful time re-visiting old memories and hearing them told from her unique perspective. She went from us to the USA to study.  Then soon she wrote us a disturbing letter. “Something’s happening to my Mom,” she said. “She seems, well, over cheerful. When I try to talk seriously with her, she changes the subject. And she seems to always be wearing a hat.”

It finally came to light that Kumiko had cancer and was taking chemotherapy. In that complicated personality of hers, she wanted to handle it herself, and if that couldn’t be done, she wanted to spare her family and friends from the ordeal. Such efforts could only last for so long, and finally she had to confess what was going on. Yes, it was cancer. It was bad, and it was spreading.

By now, Marsha and I were in Bangkok, Thailand, working with the Japanese community there. When we got word that she had taken a sudden turn for the worse, we dashed for the airport and flew to Japan so that we could be with her. Sadly, we missed it by hours. She passed away while we were enroute, but something incredible had happened by the time we arrived. 

Kumiko was in a hospital bed, surrounded by the immediate family. Someone was making light conversation when all eyes turned to her. Her eyes were open, and everyone says they were sparkling. A big smile appeared on her face and she cried out in delight, “Oh look! Shepherds!”

Then she continued, “Oh! It’s Jesus! He’s inviting me!” And with that, she slipped away, happy and peaceful.

Yep, I have some questions for Kumiko when I see her again. But I think I know what she’ll say. In keeping with several people I’ve known in their last moments of life, I believe God makes sure that the journey through the veil is never made alone. For His children, there always seems to be someone sent to accompany them. The form they take may be different, depending on the person and the circumstance, but for Kumiko, the most comforting and delightful image was one of shepherds, coming to guide her all the way to the Throne of God.

This assurance has led Marsha and me to that phrase, time and time again. When life is good, and His blessings surround us, we’re often prompted to cry out, “Oh look! Shepherds!””

Stay tuned, and if you have a story to share, please do!

Marsha