Moments of Love.

The Colorado Prairie where I grew up

I spent last week at the bedside in Intensive Care of my oldest best friend, my brother, John.  I was expecting the worst, since the doctors held little hope for his recovery, and hoping for the best, believing that somehow his life would not be cut short.  It was a long, very tiring week. 

On one of those days, I left to take a break.  I just needed some air, some sunlight, some place else to gather my strength.  So, after so many hours of waiting, I took a drive out on our old farm road.  This is something I do whenever I am back home, just to see how things have changed, and what remains.  Our old farmhouse is long gone, but there is still so much left to remember.  There are landmarks there to remind me where things were before I left home and Colorado.  As I drove, I looked at these landmarks, drove past our old farm that is now divided up into several different lots, and on past the old farming community out into the open prairie.  Memories of my brother and I running up and down the gullies, out on the hills, down the riverbed welled up in my thoughts like a flood.  I could see us again as children, building forts, sharing secrets no one else would ever know, and experiencing the wonders of this blessed place.  

On the return trip to the hospital, I passed it all again, remembering all those things, and suddenly I was overwhelmed with a sense of the love that God had for me back in those days.  I thought about the Grandfather that God had placed in my life, whose character was like a very fine old piece of furniture, carefully thought out, and lovingly assembled to last for centuries.  I never knew back then what an impact he would have upon my life.  I thought about my brother John, whose paths crossed mine when we both lost our parents and ended up brother and sister, best friends and protectors of each other.  And I thought about the corn rows, where I first met God, the river where I first walked with God, and the journey I have taken since I was first put in this place.  I was overwhelmed with emotion by it all, so much so, that I had to pull to the side of the road and stop driving. 

I felt so much love in that moment, in just the knowing that God loves me, in spite of all my bumps and bruises; in spite of all of my failures and sins.  Knowing He loved me enough to put me in that place, with those people, at just the right time, all for my good, filled my heart with such love for Him, that I cannot even describe it.  As I spoke those words of love to Him, my heart was filled with the most unspeakable joy that I have ever experienced.  Tears washed my face, but this time, not in sorrow or fear, but for love of the God who so carefully planned my life. 

After I had composed myself somewhat, I returned to the hospital to again, take up the vigil at my brother’s bedside.  I was met with the most unexpected surprise.  As I walked in the room, he opened his eyes and looked right at me.  Then he raised his foot, to signify he was kicking me out.  I told him I loved him, and he shook his head “No”.  The nurse, shocked by this response, asked me why.  I told her that John does not like me telling him that I love him, because he thinks it is too “mushy.”  She looked at him and asked him, “Is that true?  Do you not like your sister Susan telling you that she loves you?”  He nodded yes, and then she asked, “But do you love your sister?”  And he nodded “Yes.”  It might not seem like much to some, but to the two of us, it is everything.  He knew I was there, and he acknowledged it in the best way that both of us would fully understand. 

 

I do not find it unusual that just after I acknowledged my love for God, my brother would awake from a coma to greet me.  God is like that.  He shows His love with the most indescribable gifts.  For me that day, it was the gift of seeing my brother and sharing a moment between just the two of us, one more time.  

Copyright © 2011 by Susan Linn-Gomez. All Rights Reserved.

My brother John and I.  We are the little ones making faces.