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FAITH WALK_Keela Vaughn, 54, of Raymore, Mo. CHRIS OBERHOLTZ/The Kansas City Star
As I write this, my husband is having open heart surgery — an aortic valve replacement. I am sitting here with family and friends who are showing their support and love. Others have brought us doughnuts and sandwiches to help us endure this eight-hour surgery.
As a child growing up in Kansas City, my parents would send me to Jackson, Miss., to spend time with relatives. I would always stay with my maternal grandparents. Every morning, I would awaken to the sound of my grandmother praying over me. I would feel her wet palm on my forehead as she anointed my head with oil that had been blessed. At first the praying made me uncomfortable, and I would squirm under her hand. After a while, though, I stopped and let her pray for God’s grace and safety over my life. Both of my grandmothers were, as they say, saved, sanctified and filled with the Holy Spirit. So are my mother and my sister. But for many years I felt I didn’t have “it.” The gift. I didn’t feel a desire to visit hospitals or nursing homes like the women in my life often did. I did not feel compelled to pray over strangers and anoint them with oil.
I remember the sky said “Bam!” and the rain came down in torrents on top of our Army surplus tent. Storm winds lashed the canvas and then flipped the entire structure over. In that moment my tent mate and I went from sleeping to survival. It was cold, wet and miserable. It was also the most memorable moment of my Boy Scout leader training, a real “act of God” moment. But it was not the moment. In fact, there was no real sudden “born again” flash or revelation that led to my fateful midlife decision to go to seminary and turn my life to God. No sudden conversion on a dark and stormy night. At that moment, in fact, I had no thoughts of dedication or career change. All I wanted was for the two of us to get our blasted tent upright again.
I’ve always loved to travel. Growing up, my family used to tease me that on vacations, I spent the entire time in the car with my head in a book, but that wasn’t true. Here’s what really happened. I grew up as part of a large family with diverse talents and desires, and let’s just say things were never very calm. Now, imagine a station wagon barreling down the highway. Inside are 10 adults and kids, dozens of toys, suitcases, pillows and a huge green dinosaur bobbing out the back window.
As I pull into the driveway, I ask for the right words to make her sons feel better. I pray that God will give me divine guidance to help this family through death. Shirley has not eaten or been able to drink for several days. She is very thin and pale but appears comfortable. Her family wonders why she is not dying. They love her, but they feel her time has come. And yet, death does not come. Her breathing remains shallow, her heartbeat very faint. As I stand and count her breaths, she looks upward and smiles a radiant smile.
