8:42pm

"Checkmate." That word out of my mouth ended an exhilarating game of chess with my 11-year old nephew.  This is not something I'm necessarily proud of. Yes, he is just a kid. No, I was not going to take it easy on him. Truthfully, being that he went to state in two chess competitions, I was a little nervous. I would never live it down if he did beat me. At the end, I merely told him that it was a good game. I put the pieces away, and he went off to watch TV with his siblings. 

I think they were watching iCarly, or some other Disney Channel show. Have you ever seen this show? It's nothing to write home about, but I think it's pretty popular with the pre-teen crowd. It is a show about a girl (Carly) and her friends who make video webcasts of their lives. This show in particular was about their 50th webcast, and they wanted to film it from detention. Well, I don't have to tell you how engaging this episode was. I guess this program option was better than the one prior: The Dumbest World Records. To give you an idea of the show, the first record I caught a glimpse of was a man who could squirt milk out of his eye, which he previously snorted through his nose. Nine feet! Not bad at all. His family was there, standing next to him proudly... or just hoping none of their friends were watching; I couldn't really tell. 

After the chess game, the kids positioned themselves about six inches from the television so as to not miss a single minute of the show, which I'm convinced was making them dumber with every one of those minutes. I stayed at the table with my two uncles, aunt, and brother-in-law's father doing what my family does best: eating.  Each night, someone would bring us food. These people were only a small sample of the love that surrounded us over the past months. Chicken enchiladas, chicken pot pie, BLT sandwiches, orange chicken and rice, green bean casserole, oven potatoes, salads, fruit, sodas, snacks, brownies, ice cream, and the list continues. This night was pasta with herbed parmesan focaccia bread. I had my first helping during the chess match. I now moved on to the bread, dipping it in the remaining marinara sauce. 

Meanwhile, there was a group of family and friends in my mom's room, enjoying what could be their last minutes with her. Chairs were brought in from the sanctuary for additional seating. Although, my mom would come in and out of sleep and was practically unresponsive, she could still hear what was going on around her. I know she appreciated the activity that flowed in and out of her room, even though the nurses did not. Earlier that morning, one of the nurses kindly suggested that we limit the number of people coming to see her. She said it wasn't good for my mom. Seriously?! She obviously didn't grasp the kind of person my mom is. Nothing would have made her more happy than to have a party happen right beside her. I don't think that facility sees so many people that often visiting one person. I really don't know what the problem was. It's not like we had kids and puppies running up and down the hallways, had food taking up every inch of the "shared" refrigerator in the Great Room, were stealing chairs from sacred areas, were using practically every blanket they had to offer and taking more when they stopped offering, were using the ice machine in the "Staff Only" kitchen, were creating our own parking spaces since we had filled all the others, and were getting all around too comfortable in an otherwise public facility. I'm sure they are rewriting the policy on visitors right now. 

Back in the Great Room, we all just sat there around the same table eating, talking, joking, laughing.  At this point I don't really remember what the conversation was about. I do know my uncle made an observation at some point about the idiocracy of us watching idiots on TV (referring now to the record breakers, although iCarly is not the most educationally stimulating show either). Family and friends would come and go as they felt led. There seemed to be a slight influx now of those coming. They just joined right in with the conversation, adding their two cents where appropriate and, more likely, where inappropriate. Nothing was out of sync though. Everything was carrying on the same as it had always been. Except now, instead of a holiday or family reunion bringing us together, it was the terribly unique event of one of our own dying and a part of everyone else dying right along with her. 

With my back to the entrance of the Great Room at the hospice house, in which all of this was happening, I remember being comfortable, even happy. In the context of heartache and pending loss, there would be these moments on occasion. In fact, in a structure built to ease the process of death, there was life being lived to the fullest. New friends were meeting old ones. Family members were reacquainting themselves. Broken relationships were finding new hope. As I sat there appreciating the pleasant familiarity, I heard the anxious steps of my hurried niece. "She's gone." That was all she said as she looked straight into my eyes, red-faced and teary-eyed. My sister followed closely behind and repeated the words of the heart-broken eight-year old. Silence. Like the delay of thunder after a bolt of lighting pierces the sky. Then you hear it. All hearts breaking at once as the crack of thunder in the storm. We all get up and walk straight to the room. The heaviness of death becoming more weighty with every nearing step. She lie there after her last breath at 8:42pm on September 15th, 2011. 

From there, people grieved as only they knew how. Phone calls were made to those who weren't there and needed to be. The reality was setting in each of our hearts one by one. My mom was dead. All hope of God creating another miracle was lost. The finality of her life was heavy to bear. Although God chose not to bring a miracle to room 102, there was a greater miracle happening beyond what we could comprehend. My mom is now dancing on streets of gold with her Savior. She is floating down the river of Living Water and basking in the glory of Christ. Amidst the heartache here on Earth, there is a party that only God could create - a celebration that only He could provoke. Oh, what would the nurses say then?

My mom

The Last Days

This “Year in Africa” has now become merely a Year in Life.  Rather, and more impacting, it has become a Year before Death.


My mom is now on her last days.  Days.  Not months.  Not weeks.  Days.  One visit with her and you won’t need a doctor to tell you that.  She is fragile, weak, helpless, and many times voiceless. The last days... 

People talk of the “last days” often and in many contexts.  I have watched countless movies on humans fighting against their last days due to plague or invasion.  Bucket lists have been made with goals to accomplish before the last days.  Just recently, a man claimed to know the last days of mankind and of this world.  However, all of this is fantasy.  When reality sets in of one’s last days, whether yours or another’s, those fantasies are now valid - each of those depictions, regardless of how dramatized, become eerily familiar.  They can be frightening, provoking of painful memories, ridiculously comedic, or even offensive.  What do you think about when you consider the last days?  If you have had an all too real encounter with the last days, how has your thinking changed?

For her, this could not come soon enough.

My mom is now on her last days.  There is no alien invasion.  There is no viral outbreak.  There is no arrogant prediction.  There is simply a bleak hospital-like room filled with the humming of an air conditioning unit, the rustling of a sleeping ten-year old in a leather recliner, and the occasional gasp for air from a dying child of God.  A survey of the room returns with signs of a life well lived and well loved.  Flowers abound from her own garden and the gardens of others.  Pillows and blankets set out for the family members who just can not bear to leave her.  A basket of snacks from close friends to feed the steady flow of visitors that is heeded only by the limited number of sleeping options in the room.  Empty chairs, too few to match the number of family and friends that day, leave little space for walking.  A DVD in the player from the night before because any night is a good night for a “movie night.”  Random tissues throughout, still damp from the many tears shed.  An iPod docked and on continuous play of her favorite worship songs. Cell phone chargers.  Half-full beverages.  Kids’ homework and backpacks.  Gifts.  Memories.  Prayers.  Love.  The only fantasies here are her dreams.  Dreams of floating down a river with a good book in hand.  Dreams of standing under a cooling, never ending waterfall.  Dreams of dancing.  Dreams of singing.  Dreams of life in the arms of her Father.  However, unlike what is shown in theaters or talked about in social circles, these fantasies, for her, will soon become a reality.

An Early Return

My stay in Rwanda came to a screeching halt when I received word of my mother's health.  Within two weeks from a phone call with my sister, I was on a plane back to Washington.  In fact, I write this post from my hometown of Vancouver.


My mother was diagnosed with stomach cancer back in January.  Prior to leaving, I had a conversation with her about this opportunity to work for IJM in Rwanda.  Knowing her condition, she said, "Stay the course."  Without those words, I would not have taken such a journey.  But now here I am, back home, indefinitely.


This raises a lot of questions.  These questions, similar to as before I left, will remain unanswered... for now.  I'm not sure how long I will be home.  I'm not sure if I will go back.  I'm not sure what I will do next.  Today, though, I am in Vancouver, trying to help out where I can and spending time with my mom.


There is a question of finances as well.  Rightly so.  Money is continuing to be raised.  Whatever financial support is raised while I'm in the States, it will be used to reimburse expenses used in preparation of my leaving.  After all expenses have been reimbursed, which still stands a far way off, then the funds will be held until I return.


Although this Year in Africa was cut short, I do not question the time I spent there.  Although I do not understand God's will, it does not devalue it.  He is still sovereign.  He is still good.  He is still frustrating to me - a frustration rooted in ignorance, but it is a necessary ignorance for without my ignorance in His will, He would fail to be God.


Thank you for reading.

The road home