She Laid Him in My Arms
Page Two
I serve as Senior Chaplain at Washington Correctional Institution, a maximum security prison north of Panama City, Florida , which houses 1,250 offenders. During this challenge to my family’s faith, many of the staff members and the inmates to whom I minister were fervently beseeching God for this small innocent life. I was deeply touched as hardened felons prayed and wept for a child they had never seen. They also gave heartwarming cards; many of these were hand made, or signed by several men due to their extreme poverty. They were convinced that God would heal Jacob’s weakening body, and restore him back to us. My children and I were also convinced that our prayers would be answered, and Jacob would be healed by a loving Lord.
On the morning of August 9th, Jennie called me in tears to tell me to return at once to Gainesville. Jacob’s system was in serious trouble, and we needed to gather to him for special prayer and mutual support. While driving the now familiar two-and-a-half-hour trip, I was stopped for speeding. When the officer asked me where I was going in such a rush, I tried to explain our private tragedy, and my need to be with my daughter. Even though I promised to slow down, he seemed unimpressed by my sadness, even taking considerable extra time to write a second warning ticket for a broken rear taillight lens.
A hot dose of anger now mingled with my dread. The longer I drove, the more angry I became, especially with God. He was not answering our prayers! I wrestled with this disappointment and frustration throughout the rest of the drive across Interstate 10, and South along Interstate 75. Somewhere just north of Gainesville, the prayers of the inmates and many friends were answered in part by a calm inner peace in my heart. Yet, while the anger was spent, and my acceptance of God’s will had begun, the anger had been replaced by a heaviness of heart. I worried about how I could be strong for my daughter who was now stumbling blindly with tearstained eyes toward a terrible loss filled with heartache.
Scrubbed and suited, I entered the ICU for infants, and was directed to a large corner area screened off for privacy. I stepped behind the screen to see Jacob and his many machines. My daughter was with him without the mandatory sterile gowns; and I understood that they were no longer deemed necessary. The shock of this simple realization caused me to falter. I tried to quickly recover so that Jenni would not notice my weakness.
I gave my daughter a long and strong Father’s hug. Then, my firstborn daughter gently placed my firstborn grandson in my arms once again, but for the last time. I held him for a while, and whispered that I loved him. And that Jesus loved him, while I kissed his face. I rubbed the back of his neck, and told him that soon he would be with his heavenly Father. As I continued to speak words of love and comfort to him, the nurses and doctors slowly and very gently began to disconnect his life support system. For a long moment it seemed as if time stood still; and then with a small shudder, his troubled heart stopped, while mine continued to ache. I would have gladly given up my life to save his.
 There was nothing that one could
say in such a grief-stricken
circumstance, and we remained there
with no words; held together by the
common bond of bereavement.
The compassionate doctor in charge allowed us to take him to a quiet little park outside on the hospital grounds. I stood next to my son, Jim, and looked down on the form of my daughter sitting on the grass with her legs curled up under her. We were under a large spreading live oak, and the night sky beyond was filled with sparkling stars. She held her lifeless infant son in her arms, her finger tracing circles around his cheeks; releasing his spirit unto God and shedding some final tears when it seemed as if she had no more within her. It was, without doubt, the saddest scene I have ever witnessed in over 40 years of ministry.
I was almost numb with quiet pain. The warm summer night breeze felt cool where my own tears had painted my face with silent sorrow. There was nothing that one could say in such a grief-stricken circumstance, and we remained there with no words; held together by the common bond of bereavement. I had to turn away for a moment, and noticed some people passing on a sidewalk nearby smiling at us; misunderstanding the significance of our little group and the woman who seemed to be holding a small “bundle of joy” in her arms. Things are not always what they seem!
I wish I could expound on some wonderful meaning that emerged from Jacob’s gallant struggle to live; but I cannot. I simply do not know why such tragedies happen in our lives. Since Jacob’s death I have become a proud grandfather. I show Jacob’s picture to anyone who even looks like they might be interested. I have to guard myself against becoming the bothersome grandparent who is always talking about their wonderful grandson. But, I refuse to allow his brief life to be lost from memory in the inexorable march of passing time.
The last words spoken to Jacob were sad words of love and heartbreaking farewell from his grieving grandfather. But the first voice or voices he heard in heaven were doubtless words of joyful welcome. Now he knows that there is more to “life” than needles, tubes, drugs, and machines. The words of David captured in Scripture upon the death of his infant son are now engraved on my own hear: “I cannot bring the child back to me, but I will go to him.” Heaven is not so distant anymore, and I look forward to a glorious reunion with him someday.
 Return to Page One
Dr. James H. Luther is Senior Chaplain, Washington Correctional Institution, Chipley, Florida.
NOTE: To email this article to a friend, return to page one and click on the "E-mail a Friend" button link at the top right of the page.
|
