Emedinews:Inspiration:Come as you are

I shook my head in disbelief. This couldn't be the right place. After all, I couldn't possibly be welcome here. I had been given an invitation several times, by several different people, and had finally decided to see what this place was all about. But, this just couldn't be the right place. Quickly, I glanced down at the invitation that clutched in my hand. I scanned past the words, "Come as you are. No jacket required," and found the location.

 Yes, I was at the right place. I peered through the window again and saw a room of people whose faces seemed to glow with joy. All were neatly dressed, adorned in fine garments and appeared strangely clean as they dined at this exquisite restaurant. Ashamed, I looked down at my own tattered and torn clothing, covered in stains. I was dirty, in fact, filthy.

"What is the 'Special of the Day,' I asked with excitement ringing in my voice. “Salvation," was his reply.

"I'll take it," I practically cried out. Then, as quickly as I made that statement, the joy left my body. A sick, painful ache jerked through my stomach and tears filled my eyes. Between my sobs I said, "Mister, look at me. I'm dirty and nasty. I'm unclean and unworthy of such things. I'd love to have all of this, but, I just can't afford it." Undaunted, the man smiled again. "Sir, your check has already been taken care of by that gentleman over there," he said pointing to the front of the room. "His Name is Jesus."

Turning, I saw a man whose very presence seemed to light the room. He was almost too much to look at. I found myself walking towards Him and in shaking voice I whispered, "Sir, I'll wash the dishes or sweep the floors or take out the trash. I'll do anything I can do to repay you for all of this."

He opened His arms and said with a smile, "Son, all of this is yours if you just come unto Me. Ask Me to clean you up and I will. Ask me to take away the stains and it is done. Ask me to allow you to feast at my table and you will eat. Remember, the table is reserved in your name. All you must do is accepting this gift that I offer you."

"The 'Special of the Day' has been served," the Lord said to me. "Salvation is yours." We sat and talked for a great while and I so enjoyed the time that I spent with Him. He told me, me of all people, that He would like me to come back as often as I liked for another helping from God's Grace. He made it clear that He wanted me to spend as much time with Him as possible. As it drew near time for me to go back outside into the "real world," He whispered to me softly, "And Daniel, I am with you always." And then, He said something to me that I will never forget. He said, "My child, Do you see these empty tables throughout this room?" "Yes, Lord. I see them. What do they mean?" I replied.

"These are reserved tables, but the individuals whose names are on each placards have not accepted their invitations to dine. Would you be so kind as to hand out these invitations to those who have not joined us yet?" Jesus asked. "Of course," I said with excitement as I picked up the invitations. "Go ye therefore into all nations," He said as I turned to leave.

I walked into God's Grace dirty and hungry. Stained in sin. My righteousness as filthy rags. And Jesus cleaned me up. I walked out a brand new man... robed in white, His righteousness. And so, I'll keep my promise to my Lord. I'll go. I'll spread the Word. I'll share the Gospel . . . I'll hand out the invitations. And I'll start with you. Have you been to God's Grace? There's a table reserved in your name, and here's your invitation . . . "Come as you are. No jacket required."

(Contributed by Ms Ritu Sinha)

Emedinews:Inspiration:Some Kind of Miracle

Everything comes gradually at its appointed hour-Ovid.

My mother had been in a deep sleep for three days, taking in no food at all, and a minimum of forced liquid. A "Do Not Resuscitate" sign hung over her bed. Every time I looked at the sign, I shuddered. The finality of the words chilled me, even though the heat in her bedroom was way too high.

She was 88 years old and had reached the end of a long illness. She was still in her own apartment, but I had arranged for round-the-clock nursing care for her; I did not leave her side during those three days.

On the fourth morning, a Sunday, I called my husband and asked him to pick me up and drive me home (some forty minutes from my mother's apartment) so that I could get clean clothes. I had been wearing the same pair of jeans and blouse for four days, having had no idea when I arrived that the end was so near.

As we drove home that Sunday, my husband and I decided that before we went back to my mother's apartment, we would stop at the funeral home to make arrangements. The doctor had said that she would not last more than a few days at most, and the previous evening, the visiting nurse agreed with his prognosis. We felt it would be better to make the funeral arrangements while we were still relatively calm, rather than after the emotional trauma of death had set in.

I also wanted to stop at the grocery store so there would be some food in the refrigerator for the nurses and myself.

Once at my house, I quickly showered and dressed, then threw a few clothes into a shopping bag. We got back into the car. Suddenly, I told my husband that I had changed my mind about stopping off at the funeral home. And I did not want to take time to buy groceries, either. Something inside me told me that we had to get back to my mother in a hurry-before it was too late.

I rang the bell in the lobby and the daytime nurse, Callie, buzzed me in. After the elevator ride up to the 22nd floor, I saw Callie at the end of the hall, a look of amazement on her face. "It's some kind of miracle!" she exclaimed. "Your mother's eyes are open!"

Hurrying into my mother's bedroom, I was shocked to see that her eyes were open. She was propped up in the rented hospital bed, staring straight ahead. At first, I thought she was dead, and my heart started racing. But then she shifted her gaze and looked straight at me. She had a puzzled, questioning look on her face, as if to ask, "Where am I?" Or, perhaps, "Where am I going?" Then a grimace passed over her face-a grimace that I have replayed in my mind over and over again. Was it a grimace of physical pain? Of fear? Of sadness? I think by then, she felt no more pain, so it must have been a combination of fear and sadness-deep sadness at leaving, and fear of the unknown. She needed the comfort of being in my arms when she began her journey.
I held her frail body gently, and spoke to her softly, telling her how much I loved her. And then I could feel, and see, that she was gone.

I asked Callie how long my mother's eyes had been open before I arrived. "Only a few minutes," she said. "When I heard you ring the bell downstairs, I said to your mother, 'There's your daughter. Now you just hold on there. Don't you die before she gets here?' And she did hold on. She waited for you."

Thinking about the fact that something told me not to stop for anything on the way back to my mother's apartment, but to hurry as fast as I could; thinking about the fact that my mother opened her eyes when I rang the bell, and kept them open until I got there, so that I was able to say goodbye to her, I suspect that Callie was right. It was some kind of miracle. It was the Hand of Fate.