Precious...

 Precious: 

adjective

of high price or great value; very valuable or costly: precious metals.

highly esteemed for some spiritual, nonmaterial, or moral quality: precious memories.

dear; beloved: a precious child.

affectedly or excessively delicate, refined, or nice: precious manners.

noun

a dearly beloved person; darling.

        It's late; after 10 p.m. It's quiet, almost. The constant noise of the oxygen concentrator is pumping it's precious air through the canula in an effort to assist what has become a laborious task. The gurgling of the pneumonia fluids that have been building in his tired, cancer-filled lungs has become very apparent. 

        We've moved beyond the pain management routine of tablets and capsules, and we're now in the oral morphine drops stage, together with atropine and lorazepam. Names of medications that I've only recently come to know exist in this journey of palliative hospice care. They are welcomed for the comfort they bring to him, and greatly reduce the agitation his diabetic neuropathy and infection-filled, cancer-riddled body has been experiencing. Except for the gurgling, his body is mostly at ease, in this strange, sleep-like state.

        We had the conversation. You know the one. "What's happening to me? How much time do I have left? What will it be like?" Questions that deserve answers, but seldom find any that are truly satisfying. 

        "Dad, the people that are coming to see you are with home healthcare, but they're actually with hospice. They're here to help you be as comfortable as possible." 

        "So, I'm not going to go to rehab and walk again?"

        "No, I'm afraid not. You're body has been ravaged by the MRSA, the cancer, the diabetes, the kidney infection, and the double pneumonia. You cannot move in bed without great pain. They're here to help you be comfortable by easing the pain."

        "So, I'm dying."

        "Yes."

        "Well, ok then. I think I'm ready to go. I'm not afraid of dying." 

        "I'm glad. I know you know who Jesus is, and what he's done for you. I know you know that God is here with us right now, and will not leave us. Ever."

        "I know. I've been praying a long time," he says.

        I believe it.

        My father, who has never been an outward, outgoing Christian, has always believed that one lives one's faith by doing, not by just talking about it. And he has spent a lifetime - 85 years - doing just that. Taking care of people who could not help themselves. And never doing it for the fanfare. Rather, he just sort of did it, non-chalantly. Quietly. And with dignity and respect for those he helped. 

        And now we stand here at the threshold of eternity together. He's peering into the unknown but known, and I'm just watching and praying.

        Stories flood my mind - stories about our family, our heritage, his life and experiences. They all played a role in helping to shape this man whom I have looked up to for 56 years. Memories of vacations, of little league practices, of camping trips, of Cub Scout Pinewood Derbies, of weddings and funerals, and so much more. Each one not only shaping who he is, but shaping me as well. 

        But this moment - this one is different. 

        It is a holy moment. 

        God is very near. 

        And I can hear the psalmist's words echoing through the ages and pages of scripture, "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful ones" (Ps. 116:15). "Precious."

        What a peculiar word. These days we might use the word to describe an object of some great value - "a precious stone or jewel." It means the value is of a high enough quality that it bears an extra effort of care and respect. It has worth beyond the normal.

        But in this context of the Psalm, it is referring to that holy moment when our death is deemed precious by none other than the creator of Life - the Lord. One such translation I read years ago added the words, "...and he does not lightly let them die." I don't recall which translation that might have been, but it seemed appropriate as a reminder that even this moment in life - our very last one - is deemed worthy and of such notable value that God takes note, and treats it with a holy solemnity that cannot be fathomed. 

        Precious.

        Perhaps it is precious because we are made in his image. We are the very likeness of our creator. We are called to hold dear that which God holds dear. We are to love what God loves. Our hearts should break at what breaks God's heart. That creation - all of creation - was made with such holy intention that all of it should/ought to be revered and held with great care. 

        Perhaps it is because we, ourselves, are of such inestimable value that the one who hung the stars in the sky and numbered the sand on the seashores deemed us worthy of redemption when we decided we could live on our own. God decided that we were too valuable to God's own heart that God could not just "let us go" without a fight. So God chose to pay the price - the highest price of all - the death of his own Son in an effort to spare us from eternal separation from our Creator. And that redeeming act of atonement on that cross outside of Jerusalem so many ages ago is the price that was deemed sufficient. That price was precious to God.

        And so, we are precious. Our life and our death are both precious to the One who breathed into us the breath of life. Every moment, every breath, is sacred. Holy. Sanctified by the blood of Jesus.

        Even this moment is precious. 

        "For we are fearfully and wonderfully made."

        And we are precious. In life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us. We are not alone. Thanks be to God. Amen.