Faith

Disclaimer: this is not exactly your usual fare of holiday joy & cheer. I must warn you that I’m writing from my Serious Place here, so if you need to skip to something lighter, please do. I’m never offended by skipping. I myself am a skipper. Not literally, because that would be dangerous. I digress. Here are my remembrances on dying:

For me the sensation of dying was much like being underwater.

You’re nine years old and sitting at the bottom of the pool. The pressure of the water at the bottom tugs at you, pulling. Your arms wave in a motion meant to help you stay there, below the churning surface and heat of the sunshine. You’re blanketed. The distortion of voices from above and around you are muffled and far away. It’s just you here in this watery, wavey world. 

When Robert at church shared the story of the woman with the issue of blood {Luke 8:43-48}, I had just been reading one of my favorite sections in scripture, the second chapter in the book of Jonah. As he read the verses describing the interaction between the woman and Jesus, the words of Jonah echoed in my heart.

My mind immediately snapped back to fifteen years prior, when I had just delivered Caleb and something went wrong, very wrong. As Robert spoke of Jesus’s compassion and grace I remembered when this was part of my story, too.

And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years, but no one could heal her.

When my body began hemorrhaging uncontrollably I looked up at my mom, holding my newborn son, to say my last whispered coherent thought before I went unconscious. “All I have to do is touch the hem of His robe.” In that moment, with remarkable clarity, I remembered the story of the woman who was healed after she reached for the edge of Jesus’s robe. I had her faith, given to me right when I needed it. I knew I could be healed. This was my one thought, my one focus. Not my firstborn son, or my husband helplessly cradling me in his arms, or the voices calling out and telling me to hang on.

In my distress I called to the Lord,
    and he answered me.
From deep in the realm of the dead I called for help,
    and you listened to my cry.

As the team around me injected my body with life-saving drugs and I was laid flat with my lower body elevated, I felt a detachment from my body. All became quieted. I was underwater, and the frantic orders and activity around me were heard as though I was sitting at the bottom of the pool and my friends were far away, chatting at the edge where I could barely hear them. The filter of water began to fill my ears with the thick sound of silence; my vision darkened and became softer. I instinctively knew I was dying. I sensed how easy and peaceful it was. I was not afraid; dying in that moment would be a gentle transition for me. Yet my spirit also recognized it wasn’t time and I would be healed. I kept my eyes fixed on Jesus’s robe. I can hardly explain this even now.

When my life was ebbing away,
    I remembered you, Lord,
and my prayer rose to you,
    to your holy temple.

I was told I began to pray aloud while slipping in and out of consciousness, but I have no memory of this. I can only recall where my mind was, tucked away in a place of trust even in the darkness.

 She came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped.

As my condition began to stabilize, sounds grew more articulate and my vision became focused.

I was alive! I was alive.

In the presence of all the people, she told why she had touched him and how she had been instantly healed. Then he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

My recovery was long and painful, as being pulled from the edge of death often is. What happened that day literally changed my life. Rarely have I spoken about my experience in detail, since for days and years I couldn’t find the words. Many of my friends have no idea how close I was to leaving earth-side. I was sentient to something I couldn’t describe in my native language.

“Those who cling to worthless idols
    turn away from God’s love for them.
 But I, with shouts of grateful praise,
    will sacrifice to you.
What I have vowed I will make good.
    I will say, ‘Salvation comes from the Lord.’”

Being reminded of my story that day in church, I share it now with a desire and hope for each of us to look to our Creator. He has numbered our days; our time is in His hands. He heals as well as walks with us in suffering. His ways are higher than our own. My life did not end in a physical death that day, but it will and when it does I am confident of my salvation and belonging.

“You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth of falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you. It is easy to say you believe a rope to be strong and sound as long as you are merely using it to cord a box. But suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn’t you then first discover how much you really trusted it?” C.S. Lewis

“Death is no more than passing from one room into another. But there’s a difference for me, you know. Because in that other room I shall be able to see.” Helen Keller

Photo credit: Sime Basioli and Corinne Kutz on Unsplash