The Luckiest ManSample

 Within the last year, I’ve entered a new season of transition. It’s becoming more difficult to swallow, and getting any bite of food down takes three, four, maybe five attempts. There are times the food sticks to the ribs, hanging up midway down the esophagus. If swallowing becomes an impossibility, the doctors will recommend the insertion of a feeding tube. But is life worth living without the sense of taste? Without coffee, wine, or chocolate cake?

I serve at the pleasure of my Master.

My diaphragm grows weaker by the day; my lips too. A day is coming, perhaps soon, when breathing will take too much labor. When that happens, I’ll know the end is near. I’ve spoken with God about this, about the prospect of suffocating to death. There is fear, I’ve told him, but not in the death. The fear is in the physicality of the process. I’ve shared this fear with God, and in it, I’ve felt a great peace.

I serve at the pleasure of my Master.

I’ve opened up to Margaret about all of this too. I’ve told her a day may come when I can no longer speak, when a stroke may rob me of any ability to communicate. A day may come when machines are the only thing keeping me alive. I may ask her to call the caretaker, to load me up in the van, to take me to the clinic and instigate the pain-management protocol that would surely end my life. I’ve laid myself bare in this conversation, have asked her to trust me on that day. She’s been vulnerable with me too. She’s told me how hard it will be when that time comes, but even still, she’ll trust. She’s made peace with that.

We’ve learned the art of vulnerability and trust with our God and with each other. . . . I consider that vulnerability and trust. 

Aren’t these the ultimate proofs of intimacy?

Yes, I think that’s true.

In this intimacy, I’ll continue until I can continue no more. When the day of release comes, I’ll be transported into forever. There, I’ll see my heavenly Father face-to-face, not through the lens of inner imagination, not through a mirror dimly. Beaming, excited, I’ll tell him I did my best to serve at his pleasure. Perhaps I’ll add this too: “Sorry it took me so long.”

Check out John Paine's full story in his book THE LUCKIEST MAN available to order now https://amzn.to/2sHhCVH