“We’re praying for this next chapter,” I heard the greeter mention to someone as they walked out of the sanctuary. I glanced up to see who she was addressing, and my sweet friends came into view.
“Chapter, what chapter,” I inquired? Anticipating the announcement of an engagement or a trip, or some other fun endeavor, I smiled, and snagged a big hug.
She paused, grabbed my hand, and whispered, “Paul. Cancer. It’s everywhere. It’s in the bones, liver and gallbladder. There is no cure.”
My hug deepened and slowly, raw emotions started pouring out in the form of that huge, soul wrenching, ugly cry. For me, it’s an act so foreign, I wasn’t sure where to go with my response.
Ever so quietly, I heard her state, “I want you to sing.” My sobs intensified.
Today, as I type, tears fall to the keyboard just thinking of those private moments this past Sunday.
I gazed into her eyes. Eyes of a true servant. Eyes that mimic Oswald Chamber’s words, “We have to pray with our eyes on God, not on the difficulties.”
That is their life testimony. A couple whose eyes continuously gaze on our Savior. Words escaped me, and all I could get out was, “You two are the hands and feet of Jesus.”
She comforted me with the assurance , “It’s Ok to be sad, we’ve been sad.” Then she added, “But pray that. Pray others will see His faithfulness. Of course, I pray that we would be healed from this disease, and that ultimately His plan is complete healing on earth, but if it’s not, we want people to see Jesus through this.”
We continued to share. I continued to cry, and as we closed, I declared, “I don’t know what to do. What can I do?”
Ever so simply, she commanded, “Love him well. Grab your husband, and do something fun. This month, I want you to say, ‘We are going to go have some fun together in Liz and Paul’s honor.’”
Love him well.
Applicable to my own life, I’ve extrapolated that to, Love them well.
Can it really be that easy?