Looking up has become a habit for me. It began, I’m sure, in my early years of dependence on the strength and good sense of my parents. I remember the view from the floor. In the defeat of fear or frustration, I can still hear my little boy voice crying "Up Daddy!" to the tear blurred image of my father’s face beyond my outstretched arms and pleading hands. Before I ever heard the Lord’s command to honour my parents I looked up to them, depended on them, wanted their approval and needed their help.
Another phase of my habit started at about eight years of age when I noticed the sky. My childhood and adolescent reason for happiness became the romance of wings and my imagination was fired by the passing of aircraft over our farm. I studied the boxes of dated Flying magazines my parent’s pilot friends had passed along to me. I eagerly drank the realized dreams of those first joyrides that came my way. And today I am still looking up at every opportunity and if I hear an airplane, let me apologize now, I am likely to leave you standing without a word as I run to see what is flying by. It takes many forms for me but looking up is a habit I don’t really want to recover from.
Recently my habit took on a new dimension. Over the past 20 or 21 years, the Lord’s call has been strong to bring comfort to His people. I have visited, as pastors do, at the bedsides of many sick or dying people. Until the third week of March 2011, I thought I had a fairly good understanding of how people felt in the hospital bed and I often imagined myself in their place. But everything changed when I was admitted to my own hospital bed because of an arterial blood clot in my left arm. When I awoke in the middle of the night that first night I realized I was looking up at my first real view of a hospital room ceiling. I was listening to a very difficult and unhappy exchange between my roommate and our night nurse.
That difficult atmosphere continued for days. Twenty four hours a day. My roommate was suffering, angry, spiteful and mean. And I couldn’t do a thing for him. I knew that I was there as a patient, not a pastor. I would simply observe. I heard the Lord say, "NO" several times when my mind would obsess about what I could say. It got worse. But I observed, listened. I focused on the pain and frustration of my neighbour and the effort and energy and care of the staff. I became so focused on everyone else, I forgot about my own rest and healing. I wasn’t sleeping - my anxiety was peaking. Favourite scripture passages like Isaiah 55 and 43, and John 15 comforted me and at one point as I prayed, I heard the Lord say, "You are so very focused on others". I agreed and felt His discipline and said, "Yes Lord, help me; I need to focus more on... me." He said, "Yes, you need to focus on ME!"
I knew in my "knower" and in my heart that the Spirit of Christ was there. A young nurse had just left the room having been verbally abused again by my neighbour and he lay there cursing under his breath. A moment later he became quiet and I heard the LORD prompt me to ask if I could pray for him. "You’re sure having a rough night," I said. Silence. "Could I say a prayer for you?" My voice sounded so weak. More silence. Then in a soft tone he said, "OK, that would be nice." I prayed a simple prayer for him asking God to help him. Silence. "It’s been a very long time since anyone has prayed for me," he said softly and he drifted into sleep. The next morning he was full of stress again but was to be transferred to another hospital that afternoon. He was out the door with his cane without a word to me. Then asking the nurse for a moment because he forgot something, he came hobbling back in. "I want to thank you for putting up with me. God bless you." He shook my hand and was gone.
I only spent 10 days looking up in the hospital. I am so grateful for the care I received from doctors, specialists and nurses. Many well wishes and prayers offered on my behalf have truly brought peace and joy to my heart and strength and healing to my body. I can honestly say that I have never before felt so cared for and such a sense of belonging in my life! Like the old chorus says, I’m so glad I’m a part of the family of God! I am glad to be in His community with you. Many of you know exactly how it feels to look up, to reach up, for healing or help, for hope. And many of you like me have received hope. The Lord has asked us, out of the hope we have received from Him, to be givers of hope to others. I am asking you to join me as we seek the Lord, looking up together, to bring His hope to our church family and to the community and even to the ends of the earth. We can focus on Him, looking up with our hands raised to our Father for His Glory and for the sake of His people.
This article was originally published in the June 2011 edition of The Crossing.
