HE LAST TIME I SAW MY FATHER’S FACE WAS ON NOVEMBER 18, 2003. I TOLD him “I love you” one last time, I walked out of the room, and a stranger closed his casket.
When I remember my father’s face the word “tickled” comes to mind. It was my favorite look of his—sort of a half grin of amusement, as if he knew something the rest of the world had yet to find out.
My father was a good person, but in the circles in which I travel he probably would not have been labeled a Christian. He smoked most of his life: first cigarettes, then cigars, and then a pipe. I have no memory of his ever being in church, although when I was young he drove me there regularly. I am told that he was baptized as a teenager. He did not keep the Sabbath, although once, after I asked him to read The Great Controversy, he commented, “Saturday is the Sabbath.”
I never pushed religion on my father; I just hoped to be a witness. When he became ill I could see he was beginning to make amends for any wrongdoing in his life. He said apologies and expressed regret.
Less than a week after doctors removed a lung as a result of cancer, I had to dial 9-1-1 and rush him back to the hospital. The doctors did not give us much hope, and it was only then that I became fearless—or should I say fearful—enough to “push my religion.” I called my pas-
tor and had him come at once to ask my father if he had accepted Jesus Christ as his Savior. My father could only nod at that point, but nod he did.
It was a witness-to-the-thief-on-the-cross-type moment. My father fell unconscious and remained that way for 13 days. I prayed, read my Bible, and did all kinds of bargaining with God, until finally I surrendered and said, “Not my will, Father, but Yours be done.” My last plea was that my father would die on Sabbath as a sign to me that I would see him again. Some may say I was wrong to ask such a thing of God.
On Tuesday I was sure my father would not recover, but he continued to live until Thursday. On Friday morning I was not surprised when we were called early to come to the hospital and told that he would not live through the day. As he lay dying, his nurse informed me that the medical team could not understand why he had not died on Wednesday; all his blood work and tests showed he should have died that day. He succumbed to death about two hours into the Sabbath evening.
I will not know for sure until Christ returns whether my father will be ushered into heaven with the saints, but I believe with all my might that he will be.
First Corinthians 2:9 comes to mind: “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him” (NKJV).*
Most likely my father did not know this verse, but when I picture his face on resurrection day, the word “tickled” comes to mind once more. That unique, happy, amused grin of his will be wider than ever and mixed with great wonder and awe. I can’t wait to see my father’s face again!
Neither can I wait to see the glory of my heavenly Father’s face at last. To see the reassuring smile offering me peace beyond my imagination, love even greater than I know how to long for, and the joy of eternal acceptance when He says, “Well done, good and faithful servant; in you, My child, I am well pleased.”
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*Texts credited to NKJV are from the New King James Version. Copyright ” 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
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Karina Poteat writes from Black Mountain, North Carolina.
