A Bloody Gift

I was at work when the call came. Her voice sounded young. As she spoke I detected a lot of anxiety. I waited to see what was to come next.

Trying hard to be calm, she said, "Pastor, my father is in the University Hospital. He is 87 years old and he is having emergency surgery tonight. He needs blood donors and my cousin, who has been attending your church, told me to give you a call. She thought you might be able to help."

The woman went on to tell me that she lived out of town and had come home to do some wash and rest a bit, then she was planning to return to the hospital. I promised to try to get blood donors and asked permission to pray with her over the phone. She agreed, so we prayed together.

When we finished she was weeping softly. "Thank you," she said. Then she added, "Pastor, my father is not saved. Can you help? Daddy is a good man, but he is lost. I don't want him to go to hell when he dies. I don't think I could take that . . ."

Tears were now flowing freely and unashamedly. I thought of Jesus weeping over Jerusalem for very similar reasons (Matthew 23:37, 38). I asked my caller if she was a Christian by spiritual birth. She was. We again prayed together for her father, believing God for his salvation and committed him to God's care and keeping.

After we hung up I made a few phone calls and five people told me they would be glad to donate blood. I quickly rearranged my own schedule, locked the office door, and left immediately. In making my usual rounds of the hospitals to visit the sick I would go to Baptist Hospital first, then St. Agnes and Mercy hospitals, and finally end up at University Hospital about 4:30 p.m.

At the University Hospital information desk a cheerful lady in pink directed me to the second floor where the man's room was located. In those days the hospital had its own blood bank and from where I was standing I could see the door to it. I decided to give a pint of blood before going up to see the patient.

It was after 5 p.m. when I stepped off the elevator. I walked to the end of the hallway and into a large room containing several beds that were separated only by thick blue curtains. I asked a nurse about the patient. She pointed toward a blue curtain that was drawn completely around a bed.

"They are preparing him for surgery," she said. "As soon as they are finished you may see him."

I prayed while I waited.

When they finished prepping him, I stepped inside the blue curtain and introduced myself to this total stranger. Other than being human, male, and dearly loved by God, we had nothing else in common.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm a pastor," I replied.

"A what?"

"A pastor⎯you know, a preacher. I pastor a church."

"Oh," he said. "I went to church once when my baby daughter got married . . . ain't been back since."

All at once, his daughter pulled the curtain aside and stepped inside. "Daddy, I'm back!" she said cheerfully. Her father smiled and took her into his arms. After a long embrace, she straightened up, extended her hand toward me and said, "I'm the baby daughter. On my way up I stopped by the blood bank and they told me you gave blood for Daddy. Thank you!"

She turned toward her father. "Daddy, the pastor here gave blood for you a little while ago." The old man looked at me. A quizzical expression came across his face. Then he spoke.

"You gave blood for someone you did know⎯hadn't even met or seen?" he asked.

The daughter spoke up before I could answer, "That's not all, Daddy. He has five friends that are giving blood for you. We have enough for your surgery."

The old man was overwhelmed. We cried together. Through his tears the old man said, "I've never had anyone to give their blood for me before."

Sensing God's timing and the nudge of the Holy Spirit, I nervously replied, "I know of someone else who gave His blood for you."

"Who?" asked the old man.

"His name is Jesus. Would you like to know more about Him and how He gave His blood for you?"

When he answered yes, I began.

"The Bible says, 'the life of the flesh is in the blood.' We all know what that means. We must have blood flowing through our veins to continue living the natural or physical life. That's the reason for blood donors and blood transfusions."

The old man agreed, so I continued: "However, some may not know that the Bible says we also have a spiritual life to live. That is, within our body lives our spirit."

"I've never thought of it that way," he responded, "but I believe what the Bible says about it."

I went on to explain that our spirit is the part of us that continues as a being after our body dies. When our body dies, is buried, and returns to the dust, our spirit will continue to live in one of two places⎯paradise or hell.

"Paradise or heaven," I explained, "is eternal life. It means living forever with Jesus Christ in a place He has prepared⎯a place that abounds with good things! But, hell⎯which is eternal death⎯is a place of torment and unquenchable fire. It means being forever separated from Jesus Christ. The blood that flowed through the veins of Jesus Christ was the life of the incarnate Christ. The blood that He shed was for the salvation of all. People give blood so people may live physically, but that's temporary. Jesus gave His blood that people may live spiritually, and that's eternal."

I stopped to ask my new friend if he understood what I was saying. He said that he did. So I ventured another question:

"Would you like to have eternal life?"

"More than anything else," was his reply.

I shared with him six steps to salvation that I have shared with many others:

•Acknowledge that you are a sinner (Romans 3:23).
•Repent (turn away from) of your sins (Luke 13:3; Acts 3:19).
•Confess your sin and acknowledge Christ as your Lord (1 John 1:9; Romans 10:9).
•Forsake the sins you have confessed and repented of⎯the old lifestyle (Isaiah 55:7).
•Believe in Jesus Christ (John 3:16; Mark 16:16).
•Receive Jesus Christ (John 1:11, 12; Revelation 3:20).

In a matter of moments, He did all of these! But our rejoicing was interrupted as the hospital staff came to take him to surgery.

In a few days, the old man was out of the hospital and his baby daughter took him to her home.

Me? In a few days I moved to California.

Father, thank You is hardly enough to say to One who gave His Son for us. Words are insufficient, Lord Jesus, to express our gratefulness for the gift of Your innocent blood, shed for me. So I say only this: We are yours. Do with us as you will . . .

Will You Be Saved?

It was the early 1960's and I was the pastor of a church in Oklahoma City. I had just finished visiting the last person on my hospital visitation list and was making my way to the elevator for a quick exit for home. The day had been long and I was looking forward to an evening with my family.

As I approached the elevator I noticed a woman standing with her head bowed as though she was praying. She had not pushed either of the buttons for up or down. I pushed the down button and glanced toward her. It was then that I saw she was crying softly. I felt a little awkward as I decided whether or not to invade her world.

Before I could decide, she looked at me and spoke very softly, "I'm sorry." I managed to respond with "That's alright. May I be of help? I am a pastor."

"I don't think so," she replied. "I don't think anyone can help." Then she opened up a bit, "I am so burdened for my father," she said. "He is 85 years old and is seriously ill. The doctor said he only has a few days to live."

I asked if she had a pastor. She did. Then I asked if her father had a pastor. He did not. I offered to go see him, and waited for her response.

"Oh, I just don't know if you should or not," she responded. "Dad has run off my pastor and the hospital chaplain and forbidden them to return." She hesitated briefly, but then spoke with a new resolve, "Pastor, Dad is dying and he will go to hell unless he repents and receives Jesus Christ as Savior. I just can't give up on him. If you will go see him, knowing he has already run two ministers off, I would appreciate it." I assured her I would go.

The relaxing evening I had looked forward to was not so relaxing after all. My mind kept going back to the conversation with a stranger burdened for her father⎯an old man dying lost. Would he be one saved as a firebrand plucked from the eternal fire? (Amos 4:11; Jude 23). I knew I had to join the team of Christians trying to reach the old man for Christ. Tomorrow I would take my turn.

Arriving at University Hospital around 2 p.m., I went immediately to room six where the elderly man lay inching his way toward death and judgment. He was alert and alone in the room. I approached his bedside and greeted him. "Hi, Bill," I said, not giving him my name. (He didn't ask for it, either.)

Bill and I chatted about the weather⎯a pretty, bright day outside. I commented on the brightness of his room and the flowers and cards he had received. Eventually, I ventured beyond the small talk.

"Bill, what brings you to the hospital?"

"I came here to die," he replied. "Just found out about it a little while ago. That's what the doctors say. Yup, came here to die."

Bill drifted off into his own thoughts, but my question brought him back to the moment.

"What then?" I asked.

"Don't know," he said, "I guess somebody will put me in a hole and shovel dirt on me. That's about all there is to it, ain't it?"

"Well, Bill, I wouldn't be too sure of that," I answered. "I've heard others say there was much more to dying than just being buried. I've heard that we have a spirit and a soul that lives on somewhere. I've heard that part of us never dies. Have you ever heard anything like that?"

"Yup. Heard that. Don't believe it. I think when you die, that's it. You're done for. You're through."

"Bill," I continued, "where did you hear about a man having a soul and a spirit that will live on somewhere?"

"At church."

"Tell me about it," I prompted.

"I used to go the church," he began, "even went down to the front to the altar. But it didn't take me long to find out they were all a bunch of hypocrites and crooks. The preacher was the worst one. My wife died believing that junk. She never gave up trying to get me to go back, and she even tried to get me to promise to come to her someday."
"Did you make her a promise?"

"No!" he replied with an expletive.

"Why?"

Bill never answered my question. Instead, he grew quiet, then his whole outward expression changed. His face grew flushed and a wild look came to his eyes. His hands began to shake and suddenly he exploded in an emotional rage.

"You're a damn preacher!" he shouted. "Get out of my room and take your [expletive] God with you!"

I left his room weeping, not for myself, but for him and his family. In a small way I felt the pain his daughter did, knowing he would probably die and go to hell. But, like his daughter, I just couldn't give up on him. I had to try again.

The following day I returned to Bill's room. A notice to visitors hung on the door⎯"Family Members Only". What was I to do? I knocked lightly on the door and one of the daughters opened the door just a crack. She was the same woman I had met at the elevator and she was glad to see me.

Stepping out into the hallway she said, "Dad is weaker and restless. He is not doing well and the doctor says it is only a matter of hours before he goes." She began to cry. "We found your card on the stand. Thank you for coming to see him. He told us he ran you off when he realized you were a preacher. He said you were a nice guy, but sneaky⎯that you never admitted or denied you were a preacher."

We laughed together, seeing a little light of humor in a dark hour.

The other sisters joined us in the hospital hallway. The four of us talked and prayed together. We discussed if I should go in to see him. All agreed that I should, knowing I would probably be rejected. So the four of us went in together.

Bill turned his head to see who came in. He spotted me and said in the coldest way a man could possibly speak, "I told you to get out of my room and to take your [expletive] God with you! Now get out!"

I left as Bill mumbled more curse words with what strength he had left.

Bill's daughters followed me into the hallway where we prayed together. They expressed appreciation for my efforts. We said our goodbyes and I left.

Bill died the next day, without a Savior as far as I know. Still, I'm glad I tried.
I do not know what you think about God, but I do know what God thinks about you. He loves you and gave His only begotten Son to die for your sins so that you may have eternal life instead of perishing in a hell prepared for the devil and his "angels" or demons (John 3:16; Matthew 25:41).

Will you be saved? I sincerely hope so. But the longer you wait the more likely it is that you will not. Consider this: researchers report that 19 out of every 20 people who become Christians do so before they reach age 25. After 25 years of age, only one in 10,000 come to Christ. After 35 years of age, only one in 50,000. After 45, only one in 200,000. After 55, only one in 300,000. After age 65, only one in 500,000. And after 75 years of age, only one in 700,000 ever come to know Christ as Savior.
Will you be saved? Only if you respond to God's love with faith in Jesus Christ. We are saved by grace (God's love) through faith (in Jesus Christ). God will save all who come to Him in this manner regardless of their age. There no better time than the present for you to invite Him into your life.

Jesus, they may someday say, "I wish I had listened," but may our friends never say, "I wish they had told me."