I hope....

And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
2 Corinthians 12:9

I hope I can go to my death with the same strength that Christ went to his. This is the words he said as I stopped to watch the last bit of Jesus of Nazareth. I said, "Dad, don't talk like that." He just seem to have a far off distant look after he had made the statement. I looked over at the man in the hospital bed that was my father. He had always been a strong man. His strength wasn't his own but something supernatural. His strength was tender and kind. Even the look he had in his eyes and concern you could see in his face for others could be felt. He didn't even want to let the Lord down in how he went to his death.

Little did I know what all he would reveal to us in that last month of his life. The amazing and unexplainable things that happened. Let's say that he spent every labored breath and action glorifying our Lord to the very end. If there is anything as an honorable death, his was a reflection of that. He let go while finding his strength in the unseen.

He was his hiding place in times of distress. So he did more than walk to him, he ran to him. God's loving embrace to protect him and renew his strength. Never to turn his back on his Saviour and Lord.

So, he praised him through the pain. Doing whatever it took in sacrifice, even pain, to bring God glory. Jesus was all the strength he ever needed in this life and at the end.

Pondering on those words and thoughts at church. I questioned my own strength, courage and resolve. My thoughts seemed to float on the air of the warm spring breeze. It felt nice and cool to my face from the open church windows surrounding me. I noticed a faint smell of flowers blooming on the wind. I made sure it was not coming from any perfume, cologne, or any scent around me. There was no flowers planted around the church or inside. I investigated this rare sweet smell of lilies, roses, honeysuckles, and mint. No one was wearing this scent for we are a small church and know everyone. I questioned my wife, and she had caught a hint of it. No one else had caught this besides her and I.

Was this the sweet smell of flowers not of this world but the next? Whose fragrance forever bless the saints with their aroma, flowers that are perfect and never die. This I do not know. All I know is that I question myself with good reason and at times something reaches back to soothe me. This is all I know.

by
Lance Gargus

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