Staring at the Window | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Staring at the Window | Previous Challenge Entry
By
04/29/07
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I lay here on my deathbed, looking towards the window.
I can't really see out it, but I like to pretend that I can. That I can see the white clouds getting shaped by the wind. That I can see the birds flying by, going north for the summer months.
That everything outside is better than my current situation.
I like to pretend that I'm not lying in a hospital. That I'm not slowly making an irreversible groove in this bed. That nothing is wrong. That I'm not going to die tomorrow.
Tomorrow. If I could just die, I might not hate it. But this day has been wearing on forever, and I don't think it will be over.
My son came by to see me just an hour ago. He came in wearing his little white collar. Bible-in-hand. He cocked his head to the side and smiled a sad smile. A smile that, a month ago, I would have been angry about. The kind of smile that tells you, "There's no hope for you Mr. Robenson."
But there wasn't, and I was growing accustom to the look.
He sat in the ugly green lounge chair next to the bed. Scooting to the edge, he said, "Dad, we need to talk about what you're going to do."
I wasn't going to do anything. Except die.
He said, "You're going to die tomorrow. I think it's time you made your peace with God."
I made a grunt. God. I'd been there. Done that. Now I was going to die. Where was He when I lost control of my car? Where was He when the steering column tore the bottom part of my face off. Yeah, my peace with God. Why wouldn't he make peace with me and heal me?
"All God asks of us is that we accept Him as our Lord and Savior. And ask for His forgiveness."
Ask Him for forgiveness? I'm the one dying. I motioned for the pen and piece of paper that were sitting on the little table next to the ugly green chair. He gathered them and handed it to me.
WHY... WON'T... HE... HEAL... ME? I wrote slowly and scribbly.
"Dad, He can't heal you if you don't trust Him as your savior," he told me with tears welling up in his eyes.
DON'T... CRY... I'M... OK.
"No you aren't, Dad," he said breathily as he began to sob and hug me.
The nurse came in and needed to change my bandages and told him he could come back later, but that he had to go.
As he was leaving he said, "Please, Dad. Talk to him. You don't have very long. Please."
But that was earlier. Now, staring at the window, the sun is shining brightly and there nothing bad is happening in the world. There isn't a reason to talk to God. No need to make peace.
I'm tuning out the alarms that started going off a minute ago. Everything's fine.
I'm closing my eyes and ignoring the people flooding in and around my bed. Everything's going to work out.
Everything is lost for a moment. Darkness. Black. Nothing.
And everything is back. People swarming me. I gasp as the rest of the jolt goes through my lungs.
Maybe everything isn't okay.
God if you can hear me, help me. Save me. Heal me. I need you. Everything is not okay. I need you to heal me! Save me!
I can hear a faint, steady note now. But I feel amazing. I'm not in my bed anymore. I can't tell you what's going on around me. I don't really know. But I can see everything.
Jesus was there when I lost control of the car. He protected everyone else. Jesus was with me when I hit the post and sent the front end into my body and face. He gave me a second chance to know Him before I died.
Now, I'm healed. Jesus came and saved me. Even at the very last minute.
Everything really is okay. And everything will be okay. Forever.

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