There are a few things that you just don’t think about when you check into a hospice house. You don’t think that you’ll be sharing a refrigerator with 12 other patients. The rooms are nice, but the coziness means bringing multiple reusable bags of stuff from home and back each day. Pain relief is a teeter-totter of trying to stay pain free but trying not to get overly drugged and sleepy. And walking the halls is a constant reminder that everyone will die. One day there is a patient and some family in a room as you walk by. The next day that same bed is empty and everything has been sterilized. Ecclesiastes 7 stands true.
Most of these things have an air of finality to them. Some are just inconveniences. But one brings me a bit more sadness and regret.
You’ll Never Go “Home” Again
We checked into our hospice home after two and a half days spent at two different E.R.’s. It began on a Wednesday morning with a trip to the E.R. in Des Moines. This was followed by an ambulance transfer to the E.R. at the University of Iowa Hospital where all Robyn’s oncologists were located. We spent 14 hour in the first E.R. to get an M.R.I. of Robyn’s spine. Then we spent another 10 hours in the E.R. in Iowa City. After this we transferred up to the Palliative Care wing for another day and a half. Finally we landed at the hospice home in Des Moines. It was probably the most intense two and a half days of my entire life.
But when we packed our things early Wednesday morning to leave the house, we were not thinking that Robyn would never come home again. We were not thinking that she wouldn’t see the house she so wonderfully made into a warm home. She would never put up the fall decorations again. She would not help decorate a Christmas tree or hang the kids stockings again. No more putting the kids to bed in the rooms she arranged and set up and also filled with toys and decorations. No more late night talks with me and no more family game nights with the kids.
As you can imagine, this is quite heavy. It would be so nice to go back just once more and walk through our home together. Now we can only spend time holding hands in the hospice room. And it goes both ways. She will never go home again. I will never come home to her again. As we navigated the many questions and decisions in those two and a half days, this scenario never took a seat in my mind. The unexpectedness adds to the sorrow.
Of course we have been so thankful for the hospice home we are in. The nurses and aids are so kind and helpful. The pain management has been excellent. We had some reservations about choosing a hospice home rather than home care. But it only took an hour after checking in to be certain that this was God’s plan for us. Nonetheless, the sorrow remains in our hearts in the same way highway noise fades into the background when you live in the city. Sometimes you might not be thinking about it, but it’s never gone.
The Body of Christ
But God’s grace toward us has not been absent. We have seen it so many times as the Body of Christ has showed us love and care. Now, I never saw Christ when He was on earth. Was He tall? Short? I certainly don’t know. But I’m speaking of His current body—the church. What does it look like today? It looks like this: when 350 college students and staff show up to the hospice house to sing songs and encourage you.
(Check out the video of the singing here)
It looks like this: an old friend you haven’t seen in years drops off scones (which were amazing) just to be an encouragement to all the family that are staying by your side and visiting. It looks like facebook messenger and text messages always floating around 100 unopened messages from people reaching out to say that they are praying and would do anything to help. It’s a friend and mentor who keeps messaging you encouraging quotes from Biblical books, even though you haven’t responded in days.
The body of Christ looks like people caring for you like you are their own family. The body of Christ looks like a church bringing meal after meal after meal to a hospice house. The body of Christ looks like Pastors and fellow members staying in contact, praying, and offering to stop by regularly. The body of Christ looks like love, care, concern, and sacrifice. It looks like weeping with those who weep, and mourning with those who mourn. Just last night our church came to sing hymns, pray, and meditate on the Word with us.
It has been so long since Robyn has been in church. It’s been weeks since I have been at a Sunday gathering. But to sing again with your own church, there is just something special about that. In the midst of all the pain and sorrow, there is a grace that God gives that passes beyond human understanding.
Going to Our True Home
The body of Christ has been such an encouragement during this time. And if you stop and think about it for a moment, this is a picture of what Heaven—our true home—will be like. Take away all the pain and sorrow. Take away the finality of death. Forget all the “stuff” and “drama” that constantly spoils our days. In Heaven, in the presence of our Savior, all will be made right.
Revelation 21 has always been a favorite passage of mine. Similar to the way Ecclesiastes reminds me that this world is not what it was meant to be, Revelation 21 reminds me that the next world is my true home. The next world is the one I was made for before sin wreaked havoc and destruction on this one.
Being in hospice with my wife brings thoughts like this to my mind more frequently than when Robyn and I were young and healthy without a care in the world. But right now our gaze is being directed again and again to the next life. The next world. The true home that we all long for deep down inside.
Perhaps you have no troubles today. Praise the Lord for His grace. Stop now and thank Him for that grace. But maybe you do have troubles. Maybe some are quite difficult. Take time to meditate on the true home God has made for us. Remember to live your life now in a manner worthy of the next. Far from escapism and avoidance of responsibility in this life, this truth means that we can live now in the midst of hardship and sorrow and pain and sadness, because this world—this home—is not our true home.
Revelation 21:1-4
21:1 Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.
2 And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.
3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God.
4 He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”
The Holy Bible: English Standard Version (Wheaton, IL: Crossway Bibles, 2016), Re 21:1–4.
Thoughts Worth Thinking 