Why I know God is real

I have believed in God most of my life. But shortly before my father died in 1988 I came to believe God. My mother and I were keeping each other company in my father’s hospital room. We knew his end was near. I thought I had cried all my tears for him and now I was just waiting. But waiting in such circumstances is agony.

I was at work when my mom called for an ambulance that afternoon to bring him to the hospital. The cancer which had begun weeks ago in his lungs was eating on his bones, and he was in such pain he could not move. Nurses had given him drugs to help ease the pain, but that had also fuzzied his mind – a condition which only frustrated my cerebral father. We assured him he was not losing his mind – that the problem was only the pain-killers. He drifted off to sleep, and my mom and I waited.

Pop’s breathing was audible and labored. The frightening sound filled the room. Hours passed. He roused and I was almost embarrassed by the tender exchange between my long-married parents. My mother fluffed his pillow. “Do you want some water?” she asked. He moved and groaned. Any movement was more than he could bear. She put the straw in his mouth. He drank then settled back on the pillow. She gazed into his blue eyes. “I love you, honey.” She kissed him as he mumbled, “I love you too.”

Once again the room was silent except for his breathing. “Oh, God,” I prayed, “if he is to die I can accept that, but please take the pain away.” Before that thought was completely out of my head there was an ever so slight change in my dad’s breathing. I looked at my mom. She had noticed it too. She went to him… tried to rouse him. Nothing. We waited until the nurse came in and told her what we noticed. She made a brief examination and told us she suspected he had had a brain stem stroke, and he would not regain consciousness again.

Everything in me said I should be sad. My dad had cancer; he was dying; he had just had a stroke. Why then was I overwhelmed with joy? I wanted to go running down the hospital halls screaming with that joy! God is real! He answered my prayer! He took Pop’s pain away!! And one day I’ll see my day again; he’ll be waiting for me when it’s my turn to die. God took my dad to him that night… oh his body lived on a little while longer; his spirit continued also. But one of those mansion doors was opened for my dad. I no longer had to fear death because I know what a glorious reunion we will have.

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This morning as I was doing some devotional study I began to pray. Suddenly this experience came to mind, and I cried like I haven’t in a long time. God wanted me to write this today. If I have written this before, forgive me the duplication. But I believe there is someone who needs to read this. If you read this and you know it is not for you, but you know someone who might be touched by my experience, please point them to this. God is very real and very loving, and he does answer prayer.