There was a moment, around 10 past 1 this morning (nearly 8 hours before she finally breathed her last), when I realized, "my God, this is it" ... turning back to the bed to say goodbye one last time. Like the late Larry Norman in his last week a year ago, it was party time in the hospice room when Amelia and I arrived. Some techno-music was blasting away on the stereo (apparently, Cal's and Heather's daughters believed it was a significant "totally Candy" song), and we all knew that everything that could be said had been said, and as she was leaving this chapter of Eternity with no regrets, we were letting her go with no regrets.
Just last Wednesday, Amelia and I had wheeled her out into the garden at St Michael's hospice in Burnaby. She couldn't talk, but her grip on our hands was tight, and she could still crack a smile and manipulate one eyebrow. So we sat there, reading the Bible, singing worship songs, and breathing in the fresh air of the garden and looking at the flowers. Heather joined us and we spent this beautiful evening -- the 4 of us -- chatting and praying and loving our friend.
Now, here we were, the time closing in on midnight, watching our friend. She was already in the arms of Jesus ... breathing on her own, but irreversibly asleep and gradually growing colder from the extremities inward ... already gone, and "they" were just turning out the lights. But for a selfish instant, as I bent over her to kiss her forehead, I realized that this was It: the last time I'd see her alive ... and that that raucous laugh, her whoops of joy, her shouts of "Hallelujah!" and her sudden, unprovoked utterance, "thank you, Jesus!" would not be heard again at Westpointe.
Who was I kidding? They hadn't been heard in about 2 months, since just before she had yet another seizure and was bunged into Burnaby General Hospital to wait for a palliative bed ... and then space in the hospice. But saying that last goodbye was like hearing the cell door clang shut ... at least, it was to me.
I remember first meeting her. Who could forget first meeting Candy? I'd decided to stop driving past Westpointe and actually go in ... and there she was, this 50-something woman with ever-changing hair colour and a demeanour closer to an 8-year-old ... utterly delighting in praising the Lord, serving the Lord, and testifying about the Lord. Early on, I learned that she'd been a drug addict ... hooked on heroin for the most part ... abandoned by her family and raised by bikers in Montreal from age 11. And saved by Jesus when she was about 53, and aside from letting out a loud whoop if she saw or heard a Harley-Davidson go by (she had no time or patience for "rice rockets" -- Japanese motorbikes -- especially the ones that tried to masquerade as Harleys) ... but that was pretty much the only link with her past that she maintained ...
I asked her early on if she'd give her testimony at Gospel Mission. "No way, man," she said. "I'm never going back down there!" She was afraid she'd fall ... or run into someone she knew. I told her the invitation would always be open, and then -- almost a year ago now -- Nathan Weber -- Pastor Cal's son -- spoke a prophecy over her that she would return to the DTES and give her testimony.
About four months ago, she did just that. Heather -- Cal's wife -- called to ask if they could come down. They sat at the back (and no, Candy didn't meet anyone she knew) and finally, I asked if she'd come up and share her experience with the others. A very nervous Candy stepped forward and took the mike; and after almost drying solid (and if you knew Candy, you'd understand how rare an occurence that would be!), she started telling her story.
She told of the bikers and the drugs and the abandonment as a child. She told of living on the streets and hanging out on Granville Mall, which was the "heroin district" -- compared with the "crack district" on the DTES. She told of Heather and Cal ministering to her and preaching Jesus. And she told of the night two hoods burst into her dingy apartment and stuck a gun to her head.
"They were looking for a guy and thought I knew him and knew where he was," she said. "I didn't, but they didn't believe me. One of the guys cocked the gun and I said, 'Jesus, if You get me out of this, I'll give my life to You.'"
He pulled the trigger.
The gun jammed.
Twice.
The hoods ran off, and Candy was out the door as soon as it was safe. To hear her tell it, her feet hardly touched ground as she raced over to Cal and Heather's and - even though it was very late at night - received Jesus at last.
Some might question whether we can make a deal with God like that: promise to serve Him if He gets you out of a jam. But God knows our hearts -- whether we genuinely have made a commitment or whether we're just trying to say anything to get out of a pickle. He knew Candy's. She became the fiercest, loudest, most joyful enemy of the enemy you ever saw. Living is the best revenge, and she took her revenge on the devil for all those locust-devoured years by living for Jesus and doing her touchdown dance on Satan's face at every opportunity.
She was already ravaged by Hepatitis-C, acquired through intravenous drug use, and she had good days and bad days, but she never let on. Even when the radiation and chemotherapy were draining her and the steroids were making her puff up like that marshmallow guy she rarely gave in to the pain and discomfort. And she wouldn't let us feel sorry for her.
There are so many images of Candy. Seeing her unbridled delight when my wife Amelia was baptized. I'll let Amelia tell the story herself if she wants, but the picture is here ......
One that I never saw, but she described it to me, was how she would sit on the floor of SkyTrain as it travelled over SkyBridge -- the bridge over the Fraser River between New Westminster and Surrey -- because she was to deathly afraid of heights. She'd take SkyTrain practically anywhere -- usually to Surrey -- and talk to people, tell them about Jesus, and pray for them. Pastor Jon Boyd said last night that people actually would seek her out, to get more prayer.
Then there was the time when she was clearly in pain one Sunday morning. A friend of ours came in and sat beside Amelia and me ... terribly despondent ... and put her head in her hands. Candy came over and sat in the row in front, turned around, laid a hand on our friend's shoulders and started praying for her. I remembered that scene -- someone in pain, reaching out to pray for someone else -- when I was in hospital in February: get your head out of yourself, I told myself then, and find someone else to pray for.
Who knows what seeds Candy has sown in her brief but intense walk with God? The good farmer plants the seed, then moves on to a new furrow. He doesn't stand over it and watch it come up. Sometimes, he's blessed to see the finished product when it's ready for harvest.
Here's another memory: just before Amelia's and my wedding, Jon and I were in the prayer room at Westpointe. He went out. I followed him a couple of minutes later, suddenly paranoid that Amelia and the others wouldn't think to look for me in the prayer room to tell me they were ready and so they'd be waiting out in the fellowship hall or (worse) start without me. A strange, First Night At The Theatre hush sat over the church as I sat down next to dad. Suddenly, a loud "WHOOOOO!" came from a few rows back. And there ended the hush.
Even when you're reading the Word and walking in the Word and trying to live the Word, you still get brought up short by situations like Candy's. Why would God let her drag through 40 years of drugs and bikers and street life then save her in spectacular fashion, turn her loose on an unsuspecting world of sinners and then let her contract brain cancer and die? Where's the justice in that?
Sunday morning at Westpointe, the Lord started giving an answer. He told me that what's important is that Candy ran her race, and ran it hard and well since the day she leapt off the wrong track she'd been on and got onto the right track.
But why would He take her? I believe it's because we needed to see a woman who could face adversity and refuse to curse God and die. We needed to see the power of redemption and renewal in Christ -- and Candy's was an electrifying testimony.
We needed to see someone totally uninhibited when it came to witnessing Christ and unconditional in her commitment. We needed to see that, no matter who we are and what we think we're supposed to be doing, God has the timetable in His hands and we can't assume we have any more or less time than any others. What we choose to do with that time is what's important.
And possibly above all, we needed to see -- while so many of us are at an age when we can understand it -- what it looks like for someone to face the end of this life fearlessly, in the confidence of their relationship with God through Jesus Christ. Candy defanged death: it has no sting, it shall have no dominion.
May we all have that same confidence when it comes our turn.
No comments:
Post a Comment