Excerpts from Traveling Home

The Night Peter Died
Excerpt taken from the prologue, “Peter’s Story”, pages 17-18

I sat on the edge of his bed, my hand resting on his leg. Pete said, “I love you, Mom.” I felt that love pour from him. More than anything, I wanted Pete to know how much I loved him, how proud he made me, how very much I would miss him.

With laughter, Pete, Sam, and Andy remembered the wonderful times they shared growing up, while tenderly expressing their love for each other in the present moment. Pete told his grandparents they were “the greatest.” Each of the thirteen people crowded around his bed received individual words of love, hope, and peace. At some point Dave whispered, “It’s okay to go, Pete.”

Softly, he answered, “That’s not my call to make, Dad. I’m waiting. Christ will return for me.”
My sister, Betty, sat at the foot of Peter’s bed. She later told me that the words from the hymn “Turn Your Eyes upon Jesus” had been running through her head.

Although we all reminisced with Peter about the past, our talk centered most on our anticipated reunion in heaven. With tremendous love and concern for those he would leave behind, Peter said good-bye. Continually, he brought our attention back to the Lord. “Find your comfort in Christ. God is good. God is very good. Christ is the answer.” God’s grace permeated the room, as the Spirit of God filled Pete. His last words to us were, “Don’t worry about me. I love you all. I love everybody in this room. God bless you all. God bless you all.” Then he fell asleep.

An hour later, Peter awoke unmindful of the people surrounding him. He smiled, and then grinned as though seeing something extraordinary! Awestruck, his chin dropped to his chest. All the while, his eyes were intensely fixed on something above, something we couldn’t see. Peter’s eyebrows rose until his forehead crinkled in wonder. Then his eyes clamped shut as though blinded by a brilliant light. His face radiant, he exclaimed, “It’s more beautiful than you can ever imagine!” Suddenly, he ripped off his oxygen mask. Miraculously, Pete breathed freely without assistance. Nodding his head up and down in response to someone, he shouted, “Let’s go! Let’s go! Woo hoo! This is awesome! This is awesome! Yeah!” Sitting straight up, he swung his arms and body back and forth as though flying from his bed. Dave tried to restrain him, but Pete’s overpowering strength knocked him back. The force of his swinging arms dashed the IV stand and bedside tray against the wall and sent them crashing to the floor. That quiet corner of the Seaside Hospital was rocked as Pete flew with wings of joy into the arms of Jesus.

Tears of sorrow and wonder mingled and flowed down our cheeks.

Peter is home.

Excerpt from “The News”, chapter 4, page 34

Earlier that day I’d headed home from work, nothing more pressing on my mind than what to fix for dinner. Reading was on the agenda for the rest of the evening, like hundreds of evenings before. But Dave met me as I came through the back door. “Peter called from the McMinnville Hospital,” he said. “The emergency room doctor thinks he may have appendicitis. They’re waiting for test results.” My reaction frightened me—Pete doesn’t have appendicitis, he has cancer. I knew it. I felt it, even as I hoped it wasn’t so.

Excerpt from “Acceptance”, chapter 6, page 45

Pete’s post-chemo plans didn’t work out, though. Instead of growing stronger, he grew weaker at an alarming rate. His resolve not to wrestle with God remained firm. Peter associated fighting God with a visit we’d had with friends. The couple’s little boy, Norbert, painstakingly built a sand castle on the beach, then threw a temper tantrum when the tide came in, washing away his hard work. On hands and knees, Norbert screamed and railed as he frantically tried to push back the ocean with his arms, loudly demanding that the sea be stopped. Peter told me, “I don’t want to be a Norbert, engaged in a war I can’t win, shaking my fists at God.” Instead, Pete chose to trust God, enabling him to face his pending death with courage, peace and, ultimately, joy.

Excerpt from “Losses”, chapter 14, page 87

The summer he died, I would go into his room—surrounding myself with the clothes he wore, the objects he touched, the music he listened to, and the books he read. I’d close my eyes and breathe in his lingering scent—a blend of deodorant, soap, and shampoo that was uniquely Pete. Then one morning, I entered his room and was dismayed to discover the smell had vanished as if he hadn’t lived there for the last twenty-one years. The tears fell as I said good-bye to another tangible part of him.

Excerpt from “On Wings Like Eagles”, chapter 22, page 134

Peter knew running, setting records in the 400-meter dash, one of the hardest, most painful races. At the 300-meter mark, the roof caves in—every breath labored, never enough air, legs like lead, muscles burning and screaming for relief. Finishing is a matter of will, forcing the body to do what it feels it can’t. After reading Isaiah, Pete exclaimed, “You can run without getting tired? Awesome!” Excitedly, he talked of the day these feats would become realities.

When God called him home, Peter flew—strong, free, and bursting with joy; leaving us breathless, longing to follow—the promises from Isaiah fulfilled at last.

So, Pete, I’m consoled with the vision of the day we will meet again. Together, we’ll effortlessly run the mountaintops in glorious, carefree abandon; laughing and romping, bowing down in endless praise. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Woo hoo!"

Excepts from first letter, April 29, l998, page 21

You’re constantly in my thoughts and prayers. I recall the year you lost your eye but kept playing football, basketball, and running track. You inspired your teammates, and together you won the state championship in football. Your inner strength on and off the field affected many people, including me. But this time, the battle is much too big for you to handle alone, even with your remarkable courage. You will need to lean on God, ‘who is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us” (Eph. 3:20). Believing divine power can defeat cancer, I keep committing you into God’s care day by day, hour by hour, and sometimes moment by moment.

Excepts from first letter, April 29, 1998, page 22

There’s a breed of horse called the Andalusian. These horses are used in Spain during bullfights. Unlike most horses, an Andalusian turns to face a threat instead of running from it. When an enemy chases an Andalusian, it instinctively pivots to confront the enemy. That is how God wants us to respond to our fears, including our fear of dying.

Excerpt from fourth letter, May 3, 1998, page 37

Pete, if our heroes of faith cried out in anger, disappointment, or protest, then it’s okay for you to do it, too. Laments, sometimes uttered through tears and groans, refuse to let go of God even when it feels as if God has let go of you. God is not offended by such honesty, but recognizes it as an expression of faith. God can handle your anger. Don’t let it simmer. It will make you more miserable than the side effects of chemotherapy.

Excerpt from twenty-first letter, June 8, 1998, page 131

What seemed like an eternity later, I pulled up to Mary’s house. It was after midnight, and all the houses were dark except hers. The porch light was on with light streaming from the living room windows. I trudged through the driving snow to the front steps and looked in. Mary and John sat in wingback chairs pulled before a roaring fire. My heart soared – not only had I found the right house, but they were waiting to welcome me to the warmth of their love and fire. I will never forget that night.

I kept going though the blizzard because I knew Mary would be there to welcome me at the end of the journey. Peter, Jesus is waiting to meet you at the end of your journey home. It will be far better than anything you can imagine. So whether it’s sooner or later, live in anticipation of meeting the One who gave his life for you. The light is on as he waits for you with open arms. Like the apostle Paul, you can say with confidence and joy, ‘For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain’ (Phil. 1:21).

Home   |   Print Page   |   Bookmark Page