Finding Peace

As my husband, John, and I sat talking after lunch, a nonsensical word slipped past his lips. He knew right away that it was gibberish. He spoke it again then in jest, shaking his head and laughing at himself for inventing such an odd-sounding word.

I laughed, too, because the word indeed sounded funny. But then John’s laughter dissolved into tears, and I began to cry with him as we hugged each other. We understood the advancement of the cancer to his brain.

As the slurring of his speech worsened in the days ahead, John struggled to speak his mind. One afternoon he tried to tell me a management plan for our farm after he was gone: “You can just . . . it wouldn’t take very much. Small . . . it would take a long time, but it would still work. You can sell . . . it’s okay, it is what is.” Tears filled his eyes.

“Don’t think about that,” I said. “It’ll all work out. God has a plan.” The following days took more of John’s words, stilling his speech. I sat on the floor beside his couch, grasping his arm as he grasped mine. We simply gazed into each other’s eyes.

The peaceful look on John’s face let me know he’d put all of our affairs in God’s hands, trusting his care for me as well as for the farm. That knowledge set us free to spend our last moments sharing God’s peace.