The Change by Cheryl Foster

The Change

Maybe all their lives had been a preparation for the change
but there could be no words for it.

Their daughter thought about the Bible stories of Jesus’ ascension into heaven.
He didn’t really go straight up into heaven.
Maybe the disciples saw Him go up and then disappear into the clouds
so there could be no doubt it was Him;
but He didn’t go as if pulled up by a magic string.
He went through to what was there all along.

All their lives they had been peering into the Book for glimpses of heaven,
waiting for flood waters to recede,
looking for a dove with an olive branch.
The problem was the light.
It was dark their side of the porthole.
They’d wipe the glass to see a trillion stars, and the moon pulling tides.
Sometimes the lights danced on the glass into one great, focused spotlight.
Then they were ready to lose the dark sea.

They’d peered into the glass and had seen the outline of welcoming faces
–not only the beloved face of the ascended One.
He was the one they could make out standing in front,
but behind Him also everyone they’d ever loved,
even those long forgotten.
Everyone was there in the mind of remembering God.

All their lives had been a preparation for the change
but still they could not be ready
because they would not be going together.
She would be going ahead for the first time.
He would be left behind, for awhile.

Death could not be denied.
To a historian, it was on every page.
But the body was the real curse.
It was the ticking away no matter what you did.
It hadn’t seemed so when they were young,
embracing children, going the distance.
Only now it was the curse–willing spirits in weak flesh.
She had the curse of cancer,
moving through her like hands on a clock.
She’d beaten the odds, though there were none,
from Thanksgiving to Thanksgiving.
Still they were not ready, but death could not be denied.

He’d always said he had gypsy blood that would take him
and the family on long trips.
Traversing the globe, they’d learned to travel light.
They found they’d only ever needed each other.
They’d even become missionaries, leaving everything
only to gain more.

When the time came, she’d be ready to leave her dying body
and he’d be willing to let her, but he could never be quite ready.
They’d gone everywhere together since childhood.
Why did she have to go so soon?
There were no words for why.

Perhaps it was to honor a life.
She wasn’t going suddenly. Everyone who loved her knew why.
They could say, “Goodbye, we love. You mean so much to us.”
She would be honored, saintly in suffering, exemplifying faith and courage.
People visited, then called, but even that became too much.
She wanted time with him so time might slow.
Time cannot be measured at the moment the seed sprouts.
Time cannot be measured when the hourglass shatters
into particular grains. . . sand, dust . . . stardust.
After the dust settled, heaven would shine.

It would be easy for her to change.
The Risen One would say,
“Close your eyes and I’ll tell you a real story.”
She’d close her eyes.
For a split second she’d dream her whole life, like a favorite movie.
Then a voice would wake her, not a human voice.
The voice would wake her to a place better than her wildest imaginings,
calling her by a new name she’d never heard but remembered
--the same small voice that had whispered, “Let there be light” and there was light.
The light would wake her.

What is the difference between sleeping and waking
when you wake to a dream that is real?
What is the difference when you awake forever?
It is a matter of death and life.
They would look at their photos and wonder
if she would resemble the young girl, the beauty queen,
or the wise, older woman.

Maybe all their lives had been a preparation for this
but, without a Guide, it would have been impossible.
The Guide had been their traveling companion.
They knew the treasures He showed them
were more than consolations along the way,
but they were still afflicted.
He told them He would take her but would be with both,
that she’d be waiting with all heaven, arms open . . . not to worry.
They knew this was true.
They’d read the Book–history without beginning or end.
God had left fingerprints all over earth.
Prophecies came true . . . Miracles.

She would wake first in heaven,
the difference between the darkest night and the brightest dawn.
She would know he was still held by love. He would know she was home.
Then, when he finished his race, she’d be there to cheer him in,
into their forever home.
–Cheryl Foster