I have never understood more fully the vast reach of the words “beginning” and “end”. God is the beginning and end of all things. The Creator gives life in sometimes nearly the same moment that lives slip away. Job said “Without clothing I was born from my mother, and without clothing I will return. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Praise the name of the Lord.” I heard Job’s cry clearly that Sunday afternoon.
In a hospital elevator.
I looked to God on and off throughout the car ride to the hospital. We spent the morning and afternoon traveling across state lines to be back home in Illinois where my sweet friend’s brother was holding on to his life. We spent the evening before preparing for what would be the inevitable trip back home, but it still didn’t make the trip any easier to swallow. Her family was at the hospital waiting too, and I wanted so badly to get her back to them- and back to her brother. As I turned my heart over to God, I began asking Him to give her brother comfort, to ease any pain that may still be there. To give her family, standing at his bedside, reassurance that God was in control. And to give us time- God, please give us the time we need to make it back. He is the author and perfecter of time and space, and I knew he could do it. I wanted to believe that if I asked, he would answer. But what if he didn’t? When my mind went there, I prayed for the words to say to my friend who may not get to see her brother alive again. The entire trip home was laced with jokes and stories, friendship at it’s finest. But still, we knew we would be meeting loss on the other side of the journey.
And my ask- “God please prepare her”.
We only arrived 35 minutes before Matt passed away. For some reason, Mark checked his phone when we arrived 2:25 p.m.- God had answered and allowed the time we needed. He is so, so gracious. Matt was surrounded by his closest family. God knows how to comfort when we need it. I sat with Mark in the visitor’s lounge, waiting on what we would be doing next. As friends and merely bystanders, it’s hard to know what to do or say. Instead, my mind continued to wander. I looked out the window of the 6th floor hospital building to the ground below. Cold, metal tables and chairs allowed a place to rest for visitors. It seemed like such a long way down. From those seats to the height of my location and beyond was so high. And I remembered that God’s ways are so much higher than our ways. His love and mercy so deep, and high, and wide.
In the ride down the elevator to the car after Matt passed away, I was holding back tears- trying not to sob and melt down like my heart wanted to. Not because I knew Matt well or would feel his loss in the days coming- in fact, we had never met. But he meant so much to his family, and my sweet friend- and their pain pierced. The only thing I could do was take deep breathes and remember God gives strength when we are so weak.
A family was in the elevator when we stepped in. They were wearing bright pink tags on their shirts that said, “Maternity Visitor”. How beautiful! They were visiting a friend, a sister, aunt who have just become a new momma. The excitement of seeing the baby for the first time, trying to figure out who he or she looks like, minutes from the safety and warmth of the womb. They were visiting a new life- fresh and new. God’s handiwork, perfection as He only does. They were smiling and clearly running on the fumes that make your heart skip a beat. I wondered “what if the nice lady at the desk gave us tags stating our business when we came in?” I can only reason that coming to see life slip away is not nearly as exciting as celebrating it anew. Not on this side of heaven, anyway.
I stood still in the elevator and was filled with the understanding for maybe the first time ever, that lives begin and end in the very place that I stand. People rush in from all corners of the hospital to meet new life, or to beat the clock before one ends. Lives collide in that place as people gather to hug, cry, high five, or wipe tears. The span of emotions experienced is so great- my God holding all of it in His hands. The same hands that work each of us together in the secret places of our mother’s womb, are the hands that lay heavy on us in times of pain and sorrow. Hands that I imagine look for their fingerprints, and rest in to the familiar markings they’ve left over the years. Hands that don’t forget how we feel and that know every wrinkle, bruise, and broken bone.
As God gives, Job says, He takes away.
I found myself thanking Him on the walk out from the elevator for His sovereignty. That just as Matt left, he gave rest to a man who fought for so long. He will give rest to his momma, who fought so hard Matt’s entire life, to provide and protect. To his parents, who I know understood the uniqueness of his condition, and had to think that only by the grace of God have they been given the blessing of his life for this long. God gave Matt’s siblings the gift of sharing life with someone whose condition was not only rare, as his physical body would prove, but who was also rare in his intelligence, his drive, and his will to live. God built him and sustained him with this day in mind. He gives out of his goodness the mercy we need in times when we can’t catch our breath- even in elevator rides, where moments are mixed, celebrating life and mourning loss.
o
