I’d been thinking about it all day.  It was Saturday, the first nice one we’d had in months.  There was a lot on my To Do list, and I was definitely not going to miss a book launch for a very dear friend that afternoon.  I also wanted to go visit Ted, who had just been moved to hospice care the day before.  Part of me wanted to wait for my husband to get back into town so we could go together, though he had visited Ted multiple times in the hospital.  I considered going Sunday after church even though there would probably be others on that day.   Saturday was just too full; I would go see him Sunday afternoon.

Driving downtown to attend the book launch I kept getting the nudge that I should visit Ted that evening, after seeing my friend.  Her event was lovely, so well planned and very well attended.  I was so proud of her accomplishment, especially given all that she and her family have been through.  Having her autograph her book and write a sweet, personal inscription meant a lot.

As I left the building the nudge was back.  Stronger, more insistent.  Go. See. Ted. Now.  Darkness was descending but I was just a few miles away and I’ve learned not to ignore those God-nudges.   I went.

I entered the hospice building, one I’d been in before to visit other friends with only days or months to live.  I marveled at the kindness and compassion of the staff, surrounded by impending death and the trying-to-be-strong smiles of visitors.  I was directed to Ted’s room just down the hall.

He was sleeping, the familiar oxygen tube at his nose, an unfamiliar scar on his partially shaved head from the recent brain surgery.  No one else was in the room but the presence of the Holy Spirit was real – sweet, strong, reassuring.   I sat down on the chair next to his bed and patted his leg.  Talked to him for a bit but the gathering tears and lump in my throat made it hard.  Then I did what I was certain God wanted me to do.  I told him I was there to pray with him and sing to him.

Ted loves the music at church.  As long as he’s been there, he never complained about anything and certainly not any style of worship.  When we had a choir, he loved that.  When we did special music for Easter or Christmas, he loved that.  When we scaled down to a more early-church style of congregational singing with a few music team leaders, he loved that too.  Recently our pastor introduced a new song, “Living Waters”.  When I got back to my seat after singing – Paul and I always sat with Ted in the back after he was put on oxygen, and Ted loved to joke that he wanted to sit next to me not Paul – Ted commented on the song.  “That one is great, it really grabs you,” he whispered.

I thought about that brief exchange as I sat next to his bed, wondering if I could clear my throat to sing.  The Lord had not only impressed upon me to make a visit but also that I was to sing to Ted – “Living Waters” and another one, a very old but precious hymn, “Blessed Assurance.”  Feeling that I was on holy ground, I began.  Soft and tentative at first, more firmly as the Presence gave me strength.

“Are you thirsty? Are you empty?  Come and drink these living waters.

Tired and broken, Peace unspoken, Rest beside these living waters

Christ is calling Find refreshing At the cross of living waters.

Lay your life down All the old gone Rise up in these living waters…”

 

Blessed Assurance I was able to sing through tears, I’ve been singing that one for 50 years.

When I was finished we both rested in his room, he on his death bed, I in my visitor chair, just sitting in the holiness of the moment.  It wasn’t about my singing, not about me at all.  It was about the faithfulness of our Savior who had given me a gift of being present with a brother in Christ.  I knew Ted knew I was there, that he heard or sensed my prayer as I spoke over him before I left.  When I said goodbye, I couldn’t shake the feeling it would be my last time to see him even though the doctors had given him as long as 6 months.

 

I cried on the way home.  That’s how the living express their sorrow.  And also their joy at knowing a fellow Pilgrim on the journey is close to being with Jesus, and there isn’t any better place to be.

 

Monday morning I was in the kitchen making cookie dough.  Before getting my hands messy I checked my email.  And found the one from Pastor telling us that Ted had passed away early that morning.

 

The God-nudge.  When you get one, act on it.  I’ll always be grateful I did.