When I was a young child, my grandmother lived with us for a couple of weeks prior to her hospitalization for terminal cancer. But while she lived with us, I remember that every night I would climb into her makeshift bed and snuggle next to her. And in the hush of the night, she taught me the 23rd Psalm.
Grandma was gentle, patient, kind, and content. She never chided me if I got the words jumbled up. The day my parents took my weak and very ill grandmother to the hospital, she asked me to say Psalm 23 once more. I felt so proud to recite the Psalm without a single stumble.
At her funeral as she lay in a simple, satin-lined casket, I reached my hand up to touch her hand. I felt the cold, hardness of her hand. I snatched my hand back as the reality of death struck me – at least as much as a young child could grasp the finality of death.
It was because of my grandmother’s influence in prodding my mother that my older brother and I attended a Lutheran parochial grade school. For eight years, I learned about God and Jesus and creation and if I was baptized, I would go to heaven.
I had no clue of who God really was or the significance of Jesus in all the school’s teaching – some of which were true, and some were false. But because I knew about Jesus and was baptized as an infant, I had a false sense of security while growing up that I would go to heaven. I did not have ears to hear the truth if it was taught.
I have learned that spiritual knowledge without faith is a dangerous thing.
At age 17, I was overcome by carbon monoxide. It was a chilly evening when I, along with the guy I was dating, my girlfriend, Carol, and the guy she dated, cruised around in an old jalopy of a car before stopping at Porky’s Drive-In to eat. However, I was sound asleep in the back seat.
The other three ate burgers, fries, and a shake, but because they all had terrible headaches, they decided to take Carol and me home. I was unconscious by this time.
They dropped Carol off first, but when they got to my house, the two guys could not wake me. My date managed to get me out of the car and laid me on the front yard of my parents’ home. He ran to the front door and banged frantically. My mother saw me lying there unconscious and called the police. I was put in the front seat of the squad car and driven with siren blaring to the hospital.
I remember nothing except extreme darkness. I could not think. I didn’t know anything except I was terrified of the thick darkness. I heard the siren as only a faint sound like it was far, far off in the distance. I wanted to get to that sound, but it was so dark, I did not know where it was.
Thick darkness engulfed me, and I could barely hear the sound anymore. Death’s door was opened.
The next thing I remember was coming to in the ER at a hospital. There were bright lights. I felt an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth. I felt confused as to what was happening and why I was there. My parents were there, and I looked at them, but nothing registered.
The doctor took the initiative. “You are a very fortunate young lady,” he said. “You were overcome with carbon monoxide poisoning. You are in a hospital, and we are helping you.”
Gradually my head began to clear. Finally, I regained full consciousness and by 5:00am I was released from the hospital.
Although I had no physical aftereffects from the carbon monoxide, the reality of death slipped its cloak of fear over me. I did not realize it at the time that the Lord did not allow Satan to take me through death’s door. The Lord called me out of darkness. He did, however, allow Satan to buffet me with the fear of death for the next 13 years.
To be continued next week.