The Sacred Journey

Six years ago, our son Gabe went to the hospital in the middle of the night for the last time. Cancer had overtaken his body, but we hoped and prayed he would have more time with us. As we waited for the ambulance, I read Psalm 121 to him. It starts with a question (and we had a lot of them), “I lift my eyes to the hills, where does my help come from?” and the answer, “My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth . . . . the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.” Psalm 121 is for travelers, meant to be read and sung on the way.

We sat with Gabe in the ER and, as his wife signed paperwork, we went with him to the ICU. In the elevator, he looked at me and I said, “We are going to take you home Gabe.” I meant our house where he and his wife were staying, but instead he was on the final lap of his journey to his heavenly Father’s house. Within an hour he lapsed into a coma that he would not wake from until he was with Jesus.

There Will Be Grace

Those of us who have faced the possibility that their child might die before them, know that it’s like staring into a black hole of incomprehensible darkness. How would you survive such a terrible event? Why would you even want to survive? My prayer journals from that summer are filled with questions for God: How can you ask this of Gabe? His wife? His family? How can we walk with them when our own steps are failing?

We had questions, the Lord gave no answers, but he did give grace. He gave us his help for what we came to call, “the sacred journey”—the journey from life here on earth, through death, to life eternal. If you remember Pilgrim’s Progress, the main character Christian, at the end of his journey to the Celestial City, must walk through the cold, dark river of death. Christian’s faith almost failed, but then his friend Hopeful comes alongside him to remind him of God’s goodness and love, even and most especially in the face of death.

We had many such companions—friends who knew just what to say and do when we were out of words and out of ideas. But there was one family God put into our life who helped us to see the privilege God had given us of being with Gabe as the veil between earth and eternity, thinned and then parted.

A Hard Privilege

Their five-year-old son had died just a year earlier. We had prayed, sang, and read Scripture around his small hospital bed. We had walked with them through grief, and now they would walk with us. Besides being our friends, they were also medical people—Raj is a doctor, Jess is a nurse. Their son had also been medically fragile. They were broken by grief, still they came and talked and prayed with us.

I don’t remember much from the week that we kept vigil by Gabe’s bed, but I do remember them sharing with us that this was a sacred time and our privilege to usher our son, brother, and husband into eternity. I remember that they reminded us that God was near in this moment—near to us and to Gabe.

Who else but fellow sufferers could have said these things to us?

Their courage gave us courage to sing, pray, and read Scripture around Gabe’s bedside. And to welcome all his friends and loved ones as they came to wish him Godspeed.

Gabe’s favorite verses are Isaiah 43:1–2,

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
    I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
    I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
    they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
    you will not be burned;
    the flames will not set you ablaze.”

We believe, by faith not sight, that the Lord was with Gabe through that perilous final journey as he passed through water and fire. We believe, by faith not sight, that when Jesus called his name and said, “you are mine,” Gabe gladly came. And we also believe that it was our privilege to be Gabe’s family. That God choose each one of us from before time began to be with Gabe through all the health ups and downs of his life and then, finally, to be with him as he passed through the river of death to life eternal.

Now we also share these truths with fellow sufferers—the Lord is near we remind each other, the veil is thin between earth and heaven, and although we grieve and suffer, we remember that it’s our privilege to be present at such sacred moments.

We also remember that every story is different. Some are with those they love when they pass from earth to eternity, and some are not. But God always gives “more grace”—both for those who take the sacred journey and for those who stay behind to grieve and trust in the goodness of God.

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