Walking In Faith Together

We stood side by side, staring at the names and the dates. My dad’s dates, clearly carved, reveal his beginning and his end. Next to his, my mom’s name was inscribed along with her birth date, followed by a dash. “My end date isn’t on there,” she said.

“Well, why didn’t you tell them to put it there?” I joked.

Some may feel uncomfortable joking about something like that, but humor was our way of dealing with difficult things. We were aware that her end date was near; we had been informed that her body was shutting down. She was ready to go home to glory. She would ask, “Why doesn’t God just take me home?” and I would answer, “He’s still using you here on earth, probably to smooth my rough edges.”

She was using a walker the day we went to visit Dad. We looked across the cemetery; there were many tombstones. The old ones were sinking a bit with age, and others recently set were on bare ground, the grass starting to crawl toward them. She wanted to walk a bit and see the rest of her people.

“I don’t know, Mom, the ground is uneven; we won’t be able to use your walker. We’d have to hold onto one another, and I’m not sure this is a good idea.” But my mother’s resolve has always been firm. She grabbed my waist, so I grabbed her gait belt. It was just the two of us out there in that country cemetery.

Though we started strong, my doubt was still nagging as we left her walker far behind us, but she assured me she would be fine. A moment later, she whispered, “I gotta sit.”

“Mom, just a min,” her legs gave out without warning. Still holding her by the belt issued by the nursing home, I quickly searched for a place to set her as the wind whipped around our feet. There was nothing! Only brown grass below us and Mrs. Patskowsky’s headstone??? I didn’t feel right about that. Propping Mom on a headstone would violate the lessons of respect taught to us as children. Our family used to mow this very cemetery.

“Okay, Mom, we’ve got this. We have to get back to the car before you can sit; we can do it.” Silently, I prayed, “God, just let us get to the car, please.” As we hobbled on the soft, uneven ground, I continued to pull her up by her gait belt until she was barely walking on her tiptoes. For that moment, I was thankful she was a lightweight. I was holding on, but she was slipping, and our strength only weakened with our uncontrolled laughter. How ridiculous it all was. We didn’t know how we’d get her back up if she went down. I thought about the phone call I’d have to make. The fire truck would have to come out, and I was sure the nursing home would ban me from taking her out again.

It’s not easy to let others help us. No one likes to feel weak, but we were not meant to walk alone. Are you hesitant to ask for help? What about asking for help in your walk with God? Are you afraid to express doubt and apathy in your faith? God gave us one another to encourage each other in the faith and to help carry the burdens on this earth.

Isaiah’s prophecy of the messianic kingdom in Isaiah 35:3 says, “Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knees that give way; say to those with fearful hearts, “Be strong, do not fear; your God will come…”

We need encouragement, and people in the Bible did too. Even Christ’s disciples, who had the privilege of walking and talking with him, needed help, and some still had doubts. Last Sunday, our pastor shared an encouraging message from Matthew 28:17: “When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.” Jesus personally selected his disciples, dined with them, taught them, and loved them, knowing that some would still doubt Him. It’s comforting to know that we can have our doubts and still be loved by God. This knowledge, along with His word and support from one another, can strengthen us.

As followers of Christ, we share in the journey of faith, we are in this together. Let’s hold one another up.

1 Thessalonians 5:11 (TPT) says, “Because of this, encourage the hearts of your fellow believers and support one another, just as you have already been doing.”

Mom and I made it back to the car, thank the Lord. I lowered her into the seat and lifted her legs one by one, realizing they had little strength. I buckled her in and returned to Dad’s headstone, where we had abandoned the walker. “Dad,” I said,  “how did we do here today, Mom and I?” Vivid memories of his signature laugh and how he would throw his head back reminded me that life’s predicaments could make him laugh like he did.

I miss him, and I miss Mom. Just a few months later, her end date would be etched beside Dad’s. The perseverance, humility, and grace that I learned from them, especially in their last days, are precious gifts that I hope to hold onto and practice until my end date is also etched. But until then, may I have the grace and courage to help others and receive help, especially on my journey of faith in Christ.