My cousin Maria called us today, December 10th 2007. Her father’s kidneys are failing. She says her dad is on life support. They were babies when they lost their mother, my mother’s sister, and now facing the loss of a father is much too final. When you are faced with losing a loved one, you are also faced with losing a part of you that you can never get back. You have lived things with that person that were not shared with another person. As much as you prepare for “that day”, it comes all too soon, and you can never be truly prepared to walk that valley. No one can walk that walk for you.I know for my family, my Rodriguez cousins, my Gutierrez cousins, and my Lopez cousins, (this first generation from the branch of three sisters and one brother), you are never too old, to stop calling your dad “daddy”. Pray for this family and their pain as they watch their father go through this transition; the final suffering before passing on to eternal life with his Father. At times like these I recall the grief that Joseph experienced, and it is recorded in Genesis Chapter 50, Verse 1, which reads, “Joseph fell on his father’s face, and wept over him, and kissed him.” In times like these, faith matters ever so much more. It sustains you. You live and breathe by faith during these hard times. Their dad, Francisco knows the Lord as Savior. My cousin Maria, notes that this is a comfort to those that know the Lord themselves, but some members of the family do not yet have a full committed relationship and are having a hard time coming to terms. Please pray that the Love of God overwhelm, and over take their spirits. There are three sons, and four daughters, and countless granchildren. God bless you and I leave you with a portion of the words from that old hymnal:
Blessed Assurance
Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine O what a foretaste of glory divine Heir of salvation,purchase of God Born of his Spirit, washed in his blood
This first appeared in the first newsletter last year.Today is my dad’s 20th anniversary since he went home to be with the Lord.In some ways it seems like yesterday, and at other times, it seems like a lifetime ago.
Our parents taught us something, and that is, not only to bring flowers to the those we love after they are gone.For those of you who are so fortunate to have one or both parents, let me say this, bring your parents flowers while they are living.A flower can be a kind word, a smile, a day out together, your time, and listening to their stories.A flower means bringing them honor.The memory and spirit of your fathr or mother can be honored by the “flowers” you give in your life.
On this day, I recall my father’s compassion, his grace and his gentleness, his kindness and good humor.These are things I remember.I can close my eyes and conjure up the scent of my dad, I can see his smiling face with his signature wave.These days are always rough on my mom, she honors him by mourning in every sense of the word.“Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.” Nehemiah 8:10
20 years have gone by this December 8th.It’s been that long since my dad went to be with our Lord.It was June 1986, and I had just gotten home from work, about 5;00 p.m., and my mom look worried as she told me that my dad had left early in the morning for an exam with the doctor, and had not come home.Concerned,I called his doctor’s office and they were already closed, so I raced down to White Memorial Medical Center and went to the doctor’s office, which was indeed dark.I went to the security guard posted at the front, and told him of my dilemma. Well, he punched my dad’s name into the computer, and informed me that my dad had been admitted.Admitted?What was this?All kinds of thoughts rushed through my mind as I approached the floor of the hospital where they had sent him.I saw a sign overhead that read “Oncology.”Well that word stopped me cold in my tracks, because I knew that meant that nasty dreaded disease: cancer.I gathered my thoughts, and entered cheerfully into the room, and greeted my dad, who had a lost look on his face, and he grasped my hands tight anxiously.I made a quick visual check as I spoke to him as if nothing was wrong, and I saw that he had a patch over his neck area.What’s this dad? He told me that they had done a “little test”, but that every-thing was alright, that the doctor would be coming in shortly to talk to us, and like clockwork, his doctor walked right in.He said something to the effect of, ‘so yes, the biopsy came back positive for cancer, and we will start you on treatment and go on from there.’He walked out, and as stunned as I was, I assured my dad everything would be alright (the first of many times), and walked out the door calmly, but as soon as I was out of sight, I bolted after the doctor, who was already way down the hallway towards the elevators.I told him that I did not appreciate being told in such a matter of fact way of such a terrible diagnosis, and from now on anything he had to tell my father would have to go through me first, and I would tell my dad what he needed to know.That’s when he told me that my dad had 6 months tops to live.I remember looking up toward heaven and not having any words, just a “get us through this Lord” look.The doctor looked as moved as I was, and he took my hands for a long time.Back in my dad’s room, he was cheerfully getting dressed, and I tried talking to him without tears, and see if he understood what was happening, but my dad the everso-lucky fellow that he was, downplayed the moment, and said “it’s nothing, right?”
I remember getting home, and not looking at my mom in the face, and waiting until my brothers and sister were there to tell them of this terrible news.We were stunned, but as a family we agreed from the start that we would not hold anything back from each other, and we would get through it together as a family. Six months passed, but we were blessed to have my father for 18 months.The Lord had given us 12 months more than what man expected.What can I say, it was the hardest time of our lives, and yet the most precious.I took a part-time job instead of the full-time in order to make those appointments with my dad, and eventually stopped working all together.The time we spent together in those waiting rooms with sickly people, people without noses, and the putrid smell of cancer around us is unforgettable.I would look at my dad who was always pleasant and smiling, waving at people as was his nature, talking to strangers, and then look at the faces with vacant stares.Life had already left their spirits.So many broken, broken people.
My sister and I became caretakers of my dad, and mom, who became sickly during this time, and would travel to San Diego for medical care.I would be two days in San Diego with my mom in the hospital, and rush back for an evening with my dad and my sister, and to accompany him to his doctor.All my family members were invaluable at some point during my dad’s illness, but none stands out like my little sister and her husband.My brother-in-law would come home from a hard day at work, and bathe my dad, shave him, take him to the bath-room in his arms, and he made sure that my dad never lost his dignity.
My dad was a good man, but he did not know the Lord.We prayed and prayed that he would come to know him as his Lord and Savior.Well, in November 1987, the Friday before Thanksgiving, my dad became very ill, and we had to take him back to the hospital.I can tell you vividly what happened next.There was a terrible rainstorm, and the streets were flooded, my brothers had traveled in their car, while my dad had insisted that I take him in my car.He did not like me to be far when it came to seeing doctors.All along the way he made me promise that I was not going to leave him there, that he was coming home, but as much as I promised, I knew the end was near.He was admitted, and spent thanksgiving in the hospital.He never came home again.He passed on December 8, 1987 at the age of 73.
The glorious news is that the week before he passed away, my Pastor brother Jesse, the second eldest, went to the hospital and shared God’s plan with my dad (again).You would have to know that my dad was a red-blooded Catholic and promised to die a Catholic, and would put the plan of salvation apart from him.Well, God completed his promise in my dad, and he accepted the Lord as his Savior.He was so happy, and was telling people he had accepted the Lord and was a Christian. We spent December 7th in the hospital with family and extended family and had a good time reminiscing.I can still see my dad’s signature wave, as we left the room.
A few hours later that morning at 5:45 a.m., the time came.The doctor himself called and in a broken voice said “come”.We flew to my dad’s side, we were all there, his wife and their five children, along with a precious Aunt.We walked into his room while his life ebbed away, he did not see us in the natural.We held hands as we gathered around his bed, and said a prayer of thanksgiving for our earthly father, and that we had been blessed, and we rejoiced that he had entered the presence of the Lord, and of course with heavy hearts at the same time, we let him go.The nursing staff and doctors were overwhelmed by what they saw.What they saw, is what I call Blessed Assurance.
In loving memory of: JOSE ARRIAGA BARELA by Alma Barela
A post note to this story is after this appeared in the first newsletter, precious people have wanted that same blessed assurance, and aksed Jesus into their lives. Some have gone on to be with the Lord since. To His Name be the Glory!
Tears Will Never Stain By Dottie Rambo
If I could count the tears that have fallen
It would seem like an ocean to me
I guess if my heart were a window that the whole
wide world could look through
Oh the pain and scars you would see
But tears will never stain the streets of that city
No wreath of death on my mansion door
Teardrops aren’t welcomeBeyond the gates of Glory
Because the heart will never break anymore
I have questioned the loss of a loved one
Because the grave seems so final and cold
But we’ll meet again where death has no victory
In a land where we’ll never grow old
I’ve never met one man without sorrow
And I’ve never looked into eyes with no pain
But I know a land where grief is a stranger
And songs of joy are the only ones we will sing
And tears will never stain the streets of that city
No wreath of death on my mansion door
Teardrops aren’t welcomeBeyond the gates of Glory
And the heart will never break anymore
No, the heart will never break anymore
Hello everyone, Sorry that I have not read or answered any emails. I will catch up on the emails and on the web pages.
Also God bless you all for keeping Yolanda in your prayers!
I have created a page on the Web Log (please see the column on the right side), so that any of us can post a prayer request directly to the site, and those who visit the page will take the time to lift a prayer up to God’s throne on your behalf.
My cousin Maria called us today, December 10th 2007. Her father’s kidneys are failing. She says her dad is on life support. They were babies when they lost their mother, my mother’s sister, and now facing the loss of a father is much too final. When you are faced with losing a loved one, you are also faced with losing a part of you that you can never get back. You have lived things with that person that were not shared with another person. As much as you prepare for “that day”, it comes all too soon, and you can never be truly prepared to walk that valley. No one can walk that walk for you. I know for my family, my Rodriguez cousins, my Gutierrez cousins, and my Lopez cousins, (this first generation from the branch of three sisters and one brother), you are never too old, to stop calling your dad “daddy”. Pray for this family and their pain as they watch their father go through this transition; the final suffering before passing on to eternal life with his Father. At times like these I recall the grief that Joseph experienced, and it is recorded in Genesis Chapter 50, Verse 1, which reads, “Joseph fell on his father’s face, and wept over him, and kissed him.” In times like these, faith matters ever so much more. It sustains you. You live and breathe by faith during these hard times. Their dad, Francisco knows the Lord as Savior. My cousin Maria, notes that this is a comfort to those that know the Lord themselves, but some members of the family do not yet have a full committed relationship and are having a hard time coming to terms. Please pray that the Love of God overwhelm, and over take their spirits. There are three sons, and four daughters, and countless granchildren. God bless you and I leave you with a portion of the words from that old hymnal:
