Washing the Saints with Our Tears

I am in Hans' room this morning, sitting on the bed. I am struggling with the heat in this place, it is so hot. There is also the constant drum of the space heater and the humidifier. Wet, humid, hot and dusty. It is not pleasant for the fully living. The weather has become hot in these last few days. Nights, however, are still cool. It is a true desert we live in. He is cold. I am hot. I try to give him coffee but his tongue is too swollen to grasp the straw.  Are there any physical pleasures that remain?  

Today is Sunday. I can feel Resurrection in the air even though we are still in the Lenten season. I wish there was something I could do. What should I pray for him other than comfort?  I am still in the vigil. Waiting for God.

Yesterday H. was anointed for burial by the saints. Several came to pray and also sang over him. I rubbed his legs and feet with oil moving the blood inside which tends to coagulate in pools if not moved. There were several who anointed him with the tears of their gratitude. This was followed by a visit from a lovely chaplain sent by hospice. After some talking and sharing, we agreed that the chaplain would return this week to pray for Hans. He left here touched by the Spirit and encouraged. It was a remarkable encounter and one that left us pondering the ways of God. The man of God comes to bless and in turn is blessed by the man of God who is dying. 

I am sitting in his room more and more. He does not want to be alone nor does he sleep in the dark as he used to do. He is exceedingly weaker than last week. I am not bathing him in the shower. He cannot bear to sit up long enough to use the portable commode. It's back to infancy. 

I don't know where I am anymore. I am carried around really by the prayers of the saints. Their prayers are like chariots. I  don't know what they are praying. Is this what it means when the Bible says, "When you are old they will carry you where you don't want to go?" I fool myself when I think I am alone. There are powers and lights that influence my environment of which I am not even aware. Our children are included in this umbrella of goodness. I am so ashamed and humbled by God's goodness. I am ashamed because God is exposing us. We have always been so private, so unassuming with our powers. Now God is exposing our riches and I am embarrassed. It's like going to the grave and the caretakers find a million dollars in our mattress. Who knew? I share my inner life with only those students who are on the path of devotion, now our life is splayed all over the world. I am humbled by God's unabashed admiration of us. He is a proud papa. 

And for what? For nothing more than giving a cup of cold water to his little ones.

I am still gripped by the Spirit over this woman who bathed Jesus' feet. There is something in the woman's story that bears closer reflection. Jesus said to the disciples. I have been here for a while, and you haven't even cleaned my feet with water, while she washes them with her tears. I think this says that we often sit in the presence of very special Christians and we don't even do the minimum of washing their feet, much less anointing them with our tears in profound recognition for the silent service they do for Christ.

I am reminded yesterday of Hans talking to Gary Wilcox and weeping in profuse thanksgiving for Gary's service to Christ.  How many of us clean these servants feet with water much less our tears? How the minister of God so desperately need this. They need to have their damaged feet smoothed with the balm of our grateful hearts. It is not easy to serve the flock, year after year. Here I am, says Jesus, walking around among you and you don't even do the minimum. Your hearts are cold and your eyes are blind.

We are planning to pull weeds today and plant more tulips. Resurrection is coming and soon the grain of wheat will sprout it's wings and live. 

Please pray for me. I am not prepared for that final moment. I cannot even bear the thought of a temporary separation. But if Christ is indeed the mediator not only between God and man, but also man and man, then this greatly feared gulf—is only a mere threat of the enemy.