Say Hi to Jesus For Me, "I will lend you, for a little time,

"Say Hi to Jesus For Me": Chapter 9

Todd was back in school. He thought his teacher was one of the nicest people he knew. He was eager to learn and participate, and proud of every accomplishment.

At home, he practiced baseball by the hour in our backyard. He wanted so much to participate in ball games at school, but his running was merely a fast wobble. The kids and teacher would give him a chance, but his frustration at not being able to play as the others was obvious.

Once at a church picnic he got right in there and swung a bat. He was so proud when he hit the ball. He tried to run as fast as he could. It seemed so unfair that he couldn’t run like the other kids. But if he felt cheated, it did not keep him from trying.

It was a battle every morning to get him to take those large, bad-tasting pills. We dreaded the ordeal. He couldn’t swallow them, so he chewed them. He would chew and gag. If he threw them up we had to start all aver again, so he tried to keep them down by breathing deeply. Many mornings ended in tears, with puddles to clean.

Dutch was always thinking of new ways to help Todd take those pills. Our hearts were breaking and our stomachs churning as we watched him gag. How I wished we could stop that medication. "O God, why don’t You heal him without those dreadful pills?"

So by the time Todd would leave for school, he had had quite a session already. I was reluctant to let him go. He might get sick in school from the medication. He might be too weak.

Sending him to school also involved the risk of infection, and I found that I was jealous of the time I was not with him. We felt that our days together were numbered, so time was precious. But Todd had all the typical boy’s desires and hopes and drives. When He was feeling halfway fine, he wanted to be in school. We realized that we could no deprive him of that.

I brought him his lunch every day instead of sending it with him, so I had an excuse to check up on him and take him home if necessary. But no matter how he felt, he usually succeeded in talking me into letting him stay for the remainder of the day. Of course, the teacher watched him closely also and would call me if she noticed he’d had enough.

Each week Todd had a blood test. The white count would determine if he was to have any chemotherapy that week. If it was fair, he would have to take the pills, so we naturally hoped for it to be low. But a low count and subsequent interruption of the therapy meant the cancer cells were probably growing. His resistance would be so low that a cold could kill him, and the natural bacteria within his own body posed a threat.

Todd’s fondest hope was to become a fire fighter. One late night we were sitting in the waiting room of the x-ray department. Todd had chest pains and we were trying to determine if it was just the tumors or if he had pneumonia. Suddenly a fire alarm sounded, and soon after, to Todd’s delight, there were fire fighters running in and out, checking for the cause for the alarm. They never did find any fire, but for Todd, the hospital stay was worthwhile, since he got to see those fire fighters in action. And to think, one of them even came over and talked to him!

At times we were tempted to neglect Todd’s discipline. It seemed harsh to discipline a child when he was suffering so much already, but by the grace of God we usually avoided that trap. Now more than ever, Todd needed our guidance and a clear knowledge of right and wrong. He needed to know that we loved him too much to let him grow up to be a bad boy. If we had let him get by with things he might have thought we didn’t care, and our lack of discipline would have indicated that we thought he was dying.

One night Todd was cross and refused to go to bed. When I insisted he go, he began to pout and cry. Finally he shouted, "I wish I were already dead!"

That hurt so much, I just turned and went to the living room and knelt in front of my chair and sobbed. After a while Todd came and apologized and we cried together. He was sorry. We talked about how growing up meant learning to listen. Niqua joined us and the three of us huddled together and had a good cry.

God showed us that the quantity of time mattered less than the quality of time we spent together. We got to know Todd better during his illness than we might have known him during a "whole" lifetime. We were allies in battle. We were a shield between him and pain. Together we learned to walk with Jesus. Together we learned compassion for those who hurt. Together we learned to pray for those who did not know of the love of Jesus. We shared our pain and our victories with each other and with Jesus. We could not wrap Todd in cotton and protect him from everything, so we committed him to the Lord.

I kept talking to Todd about making Jesus Lord of his life, to promise to follow wherever Jesus would lead. He thought it through for quite a while. Every week of so, I would ask him, "Have you made up your mind?"

"Not yet".

But then one day he had.

"Well, I guess whatever Jesus wants me to do is OK with me. Even if I can’t be a fireman. I’ll be a pastor if that’s what Jesus wants."

When Halloween came, Todd wanted to go trick-or-treating. We weren’t sure he could manage the walking, since the slightest stress would leave him gasping for air. But he ws determined not to have that run his fun. We made our way slowly from house to house, stopping often so he could catch his breath. I was proud at his determination, but his breathless "Trick or Treat" brought tears to my eyes.

For Thanksgiving friends offered to share with us a weekend vacation home they had rented. We accepted gratefully. Todd’s’ tumors were receding by then and he was feeling better and able to do more things. He looked forward to playing in the snow. His excitement is reflected in a letter he wrote to his brother John in Iowa.

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We had many days of depression and near desperation. A freak phone call upset my day. A solicitor from a mortuary called encouraging me to prepare. It was a canvass call so he had no knowledge of our situation, but I almost shouted at him. I said I wasn’t ready to make such preparations. He chuckled and said something about my not thinking that I was "that old" yet. I wanted to yell at him that my son wasn’t "that old". All my bitterness over Todd’s illness welled up and I wanted to hurl it at the caller, but I simply hung up.

The next day a friend came to visit and to take my order for Christmas cards. I needed to decide how to have the cards inscribed. Would Todd still be with us by Christmas? Should the cards include his name? It seems a trivial matter now, but then I started sobbing.

Often I found comfort in God’s Word, and in words set to music from the hearts of His people. The songs Dale Evans and Roy Rogers sang brought special comfort. They had lost several children. They knew.

One day at the hospital I stopped in the retreat room reserved for parents. This poem was framed on the wall:

TO ALL PARENTS

"I will lend you, for a little time,

A child of mine," He said,

"For you to love the while he lives,

And mourn for when he’s dead.

It may be six or seven years,

Or twenty-two or three

But will you, till I call him back,

Take care of him for Me?

He’ll bring his charms to gladden you,

And should his stay be brief,

You’ll have his lovely memories

As solace for your grief.

I cannot promise he will stay

Since all from earth return,

But there are lessons taught down there

I want this child to learn.

I’ve looked the wide world over,

In search for teachers true,

And from the throngs that crowd life’s lanes

I have selected you.

Now will you give him all your love,

Nor think the labor vain,

Nor hate me when I come to call

To take him back again?

I fancied that I heard them say,

`Dear Lord, Thy will be done!

For all the joys Thy child shall bring

The risk of grief we’ll run.

We’ll shelter him with tenderness,

We’ll love him while we may,

And for the happiness we’ve known,

Forever grateful stay.

But should the angels call for him

Much sooner than we’ve planned,

We’ll brave the bitter grief that comes

And try to understand.’"

--Edgar Guest

Oh, how it hurt to read that. I could hardly bear to read the last verse, and yet, already it was giving me strength. I determined that, if Todd should die, the poem would be handed to all at the funeral.

Dutch and I were teaching Sunday school as regularly as we could. He had a class of teenagers who deemed to respond to him and to the message of Christ, as Dutch opened up our lives to them and shared the reality of Christ as we knew it.

I helped in Todd’s class. He enjoyed having me as one of his teachers, and I treasured sharing with the children. I prayed with them and encouraged them to talk to Jesus.

Once Pastor Roufs asked if I would have the opening prayer at a Sunday school teachers meeting. I’m sure he had in mind a few simple words, but when I got up, my heart was so full of the events of the day that the prayer turned into a sermon.

I’d been at the hospital with Todd that day. Todd’s roommate Ross had leukemia. I had talked to his mother and learned that they too knew and loved Jesus,. She stayed with Ross as much as possible and was always there when any treatment was planned. But that day Ross was alone when the doctor decided he needed a blood transfusion. Ross was usually quiet and he never complained, but now he was terrified. An IV! And his mother was not there! He cried and cried and fought all the efforts to start the IV.

Finally I put my arm around him and asked, "Ross, you know Jesus, don’t you?"

He nodded, "Yes".

"Well, Jesus promised that he would never leave you. That means He’s with you right now and will help you while they start the IV."

Ross dried up his tears, lay down on the bed, and allowed them to try for a vein. He was still crying softly, but the panic was gone. Jesus was there.

I told the Sunday school teachers about Ross, and I said that if they got nothing else through to the children, they must introduce them to Jesus so He would be as close to them in their daily lives as he was to Ross that day. "For some children, time may be running out," I said. "Tell them about Jesus now.