About two decades ago, I met James[1]. He was one of my first patients in hospice. After talking a few moments, he said, “I haven’t been in church for many years. But, I was a Sunday school kid. Every Sunday, until I was a teenager, I was happy to go to church. Then there just wasn’t a lot of thoughts going on about God.”

 Mostly our conversations were around his picturesque recounts of fishing as those trips were obviously the highlight of his life. I did enjoy hearing the stories but mostly savored how, at the very ending days of his life—with an IV in his arm—he was finding solace in those memories. Not at any point within my two home-hospice visits did James talk about his illness or dying.

This was a bit concerning. I had been trained to believe doctors always prepared a patient for entering hospice, telling them medical treatment would stop as it no longer held any promise for saving one’s life. Hospice teams are experts at treating pain and fostering the highest level of comfort possible. Still, while with James, what seemed the right thing to do, was to just be there for him, letting him know I was enjoying what he was sharing. I could hear the “rivers roar,” in places . . . yet, also envision his fly fishing in the calmer, peaceful waters. He was that good with these stories.

Before my next scheduled visit to James’ house, I got a call from his hospice nurse. She said, “James was hospitalized. We don’t expect him to live beyond 48 to 72 hours.”

Arriving at his hospital room, I figured James would want to talk about this part of his journey. But, no. After rousing a bit to speak, he said, “Let me tell you about the next fishing trip I’m going to make!”

Again, I found listening was the only thing to do. Upon leaving, I did have some difficult feelings, telling myself, “The doctor has failed to tell this man the truth—he is dying!”

Early the next day I got a call from his wife, Sally. She said James had passed, then told me of their last moments, “I was sitting by his bedside while holding his hand. We were telling one another how much we love each other. Then James pulled his hand out of mine. I reached for it. But, James pulled it back. Suddenly he lifted both of his hands toward the ceiling and with a wide, wide smile, said with verve, ‘I’m going home!’”

While officiating at his memorial service I shared this exceptional story of how Sally witnessed the moment of his being “beckoned in.” Facing heaven, James found what “going home” truly means.

Children who go to Sunday school usually learn what it takes to have their names written in “God’s Book of Life.” It might have been Daniel 12:1 that James’ teacher had shared within his class, “Everyone who is found written in the book—will be rescued.”

James’ story makes me think of the Scripture in Proverbs 22:6, “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.”

For James, the seeds of truth about eternal life were planted in his soul at an early age, in Sunday school and perhaps by his parents. God gave him a long and enjoyable life—then, “beamed” him up.

A child may forget a prayer uttered long ago, but it is certain that God does not forget.  James’ “remembering” may have begun long before I arrived at his door, to sit a spell, and offer “a prayer.” He no doubt felt care and concern. Maybe the most precious gift we can give to one another is listening to each other’s stories, truly hearing what is said.

Humans have an inner voice (or feeling) that prompts us—guides us toward right behavior and away from bad behavior. Abundant trouble comes when a person ”sears” her or his conscience, by completely ignoring it, living only to promote one’s self. This hardens the conscience and results in our lying to ourselves, saying, “It’s OK to do it my way.”

James’ story is one of many indicating that people do at times, gain upfront evidence of what is ahead for believers after their time on earth, then to remain, yet a while, knowing “heaven is for real.”[2]

[1] Names are changed to protect identities.

[2]  “My near death experience” can be read at healing-with-Joy.com.

By Chaplain Joy Le Page Smith, MA

One sweet, sunny day while on a walk with Gary, I recalled a spot where I fell some 20 years ago, having slipped on loose gravel at the corner of South Palo Verdi and Fiesta Drive. Suddenly we hear the squeal of wheels—then the driver jumps out to help. He quickly tells us he is an ER doctor, here, visiting friends.

“I saw you fall!” After seeing where I was hurting, he said, “You may have a fractured rib; which can hurt a lot. You could go to the ER, yet this kind of fracture can heal by itself. It takes waiting it out.”

Fortunately, we are close to home so it is not far to walk. Still, I can barely move for the pain. This is when Dr. “Good heart” pulls a bottle of pills from his pocket, places a round, white pill in my hand and says, “This will help you until you can see your doctor.” What he gave me was Tylenol #3-Codeine.

Even today, it is still hard to believe what happened. Not only the fact I stumbled over my own feet—but an emergency doctor stopped his car—“Johnny on the Spot”—to assess my status and provide a pain pill! Wow! Here is a good place to use of the word “awesome!” He was right, I only had a broken rib, but I think the experience of such amazing, sudden help was as good for me as the pill! This is an example of the kinds of things that don’t reach the news.

Rarely do I have a low moment, but today I met with a wish for the world to stop so I could catch up. Gary said, “How about taking a nap. I think that will help.” All I needed was that nudge. Upon awakening he suggested we take a walk and that is when he reminded me at the corner of “walk and don’t walk” of what happened “way back when.” I hope through the years this Good Samaritan has been blessed. Certainly, that is my prayer as for sure his name is still sacrosanct at our house!

Ours is a helping community and there seems to be good reason for that. I have heard stories of people who settled here at the community’s earliest beginnings. Before there was a Kmart, or even a full-scale grocery store, people had to drive to Kingman for diapers and baby food. Those trips were shared as this made for less time and gas spent on the road for the many shopping events.

I try to imagine those early days when this small resort town had no hospital. The early people, the true pioneers here, were linked in spirit and cared very much about one another’s needs. They put their “shoulder to the wheel” for the sake of others in ways that we can only imagine at this time. Love and gratitude surely flowed from house to house in many instances. This is a heritage, passed on to us.

Thanksgiving will soon be here. Many of us will be sitting at table with loved ones, most likely thinking about that for which we are thankful. This is healthy—and it enriches our spirits. Those of us who read Scripture regularly know there are benefits in positive thinking, having a thankful heart—and looking for the good in all situations.

This wisdom is verified within many Scripture passages. For instance, Proverb 17:22, indicates gratitude even benefits our physical health: “A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” And, Proverbs 23:7, say, “For as he thinks in his heart, so is he . . .” Amazing as it may sound, our thoughts make us who we are.

Although sorrows do occur in life, we can alleviate the pain by choosing to perpetually revisit what is positive, and with faith perceive the good that lies ahead.

Remember the song . . .”Counting your many blessings, name them one by one . . . count your many blessings, see what God has done.”

About the author: Joy Le Page Smith is a Board-certified clinical chaplain. Her articles and blogs are read in up to 32 countries. Joy’s four books are available on her home page at Healing-with-Joy.com where readers can view her children’s book titled The Little Mountain Goat Who Was Afraid of High Places. For another opportunity to read this author’s writings go to Healingwithjoy.blogspot.com