An Unfinished Life

I was awakened this morning by the sound of my telephone ringing - right next to my face... Now, typically, the phone is nowhere near my head, I usually have it 2 rooms away on its charger so that its ringing will not disturb my precious slumber. But late last night, my wife had to make an important call at nearly midnight and when she hung up, the phone was fumbled onto the nightstand.

Through foggy early morning eyes, I squinted just enough to read the number Johnson, John C. 901-xxx-xxxx, which is my parents home phone number in Tennessee. I then glanced over at the time, which read 7:12am, and realized that I should probably take the call. It was my mom, who has been very miraculously fighting off the ravages of stage 4 brain and lung cancer (non-smokers) for the past 4 years. She told me to get Angela on the phone, because she had some bad news. I turned and realized that Angela was already up and in the shower - so I asked for the news alone. "Well, the x-rays revealed that the cancer is back. Up and down my spine, in the bones."

I guess the full impact didn't really hit me then, whether it was because I was still in my useless pre-shower, pre-coffee, pre-conscious state or not. It hit me as I drove in to work today. I started to remember back to the day when she was first diagnosed in 2002. I remember the feeling vividly, my whole body felt hot and cold at once, and I felt a pressure rising from my heart up my neck and finally bursting out of my eyes. I wept and hugged Ange, as we grappled with the news that all children dread. This was in the spring, and the doctors gave her about 6 months to live at best. So our plans for spending the holidays in Tennessee during the winter, became Christmas in August. There was lots of tension and confusion, fights and tears were a common occurence. Leaving her in that state was a little easier then, because her body was responding fairly well to the treatments. But there was something much different about her - something almost unquenchable. She had found a purpose for her final days - and she was unashamed in proclaiming what that purpose was to anyone and everyone who entered her crosshairs. She saw the cancer as a platform, a ministry of sorts, a means to share a message. She became the Bedridden Evangelist, in a sense, as she shared the story of Jesus with love and compassion to many listeners. It wasn't a new message, in fact, it was the same basic facts and principles that she had shared her entire life. But now the context had changed. Now, instead of people viewing her as a rich white woman with everything together, beautiful children (what can I say), and a long lasting marriage, they now saw her as someone who was literally wasting away. Yet, she was showing love and concern and empathy for others. The nurses that tended to her in the hospital, unwitting delivery men, wrong phone numbers, doctors, distant relatives, neighbors, and salesman all were listening to a dying woman that was showing love and concern FOR THEM. Now the deal changes. No longer were they rolling their eyes at her health and wealth, now they were captivated and humbled by someone that cared for them with a love that wasn't human - definitely not natural, almost super - natural.

Many, many people have new stories now - stories that include a hero named Jesus that sees them just as they are, and offers love that fills and heals and restores. A hero that invites them into a larger story of loving and serving others the way they have been loved. They find themselves living in a different sort of world, a kingdom of sorts, one in which the last are suddenly first, and the lowest is now the highest, and those on the fringes and margins are suddenly being honored front and center. They now have a purpose to their lives, the American Dream has been unmasked as mere crowd control, materialism has been seen as slugging tabasco to quench a breathless thirst, and lust has been seen to be a cruel warden in a prison without walls or parole.

This group of people will someday stand up and thank you, Maxine Louise Johnson, as I thank you. You have lived with hope and peace amidst horror and pain. You have pointed us away from questioning and doubting God to worshipping and trusting him. Today, your child rises up through messy brokeness to say I love you - and I desire for you to feel no more pain. No matter what happens, you will never be forgotten - your life will be a force that human history cannot duplicate. The great cloud of witnesses are all watching you now, as they have been all along, encouraging you to keep going, to keep impacting lives until the moment you join them.

Keep fighting this battle as a wounded healer, a bruised lover, a tender warrior whose time is not yet up. I love you mom.

Please pray for her - lift up her fragile body to the one who loves her more than any of us can.