Time's Up

My brother spun me faster and faster as if I were going to spin off into orbit. We were having fun on the merry-go-round. I hoped it would never stop, but suddenly I heard from afar the dreaded words “time’s up.” We had to go, and just like time itself, there was no stopping Nana. We had to leave for my first middle school football practice. 

Time seemed to speed up, and before I could blink, I was a high school freshman. My family suffered a devastating loss. Sterling, the mother of our three other dogs, had cancer. As the days slipped by, her agony worsened, and we decided as a family that it was time to put her down. My nana was there comforting us as we all said goodbye. It was one of the hardest things that I ever had to go through. Losing her was like losing a member of the family. As I sat there and cried, Nana was there for me. My memory of that day is fuzzy, but I remember sitting in the veterinary office and hearing my nana say, “Sterling lived a good life, but her time’s up.” It was a hard statement to hear, but it was a phrase Nana said often.

Time flew by, and before I could blink, I am playing football in my senior year playoffs: seven seconds to go on the opposing yard line. We are down by seven and have one more shot to tie the game. Coach sends in the play. We break the huddle and are all confident that we're going to score. We run the ball right up the middle, and all I can see is a pile of players. The entire stadium is on the edge of their seats wondering if we scored or not. The referees start dismantling the pile to see if the ball crossed the end zone. The whistle blows. Game’s over, and my senior year of football ends one yard short. I walk off the field, emotions running high. I stroll over to my nana, who gives me a big hug. “One yard,” I said. “One more yard.”

She looks into my eyes and says, “You had a heck of a season, but your time is up. You knew high school wouldn’t last forever.”

As I am caught up in the new college experience, I am overwhelmed by having to meet new people, schedule classes, and manage deadlines. College has been a whirlwind of changes and growth, and I am only in my first week. I can't help but realize Nana wasn’t lying. Time has flown by, and here I am now fully engaged in the next chapter of my life. It is going better than I ever imagined. I have reconnected with God, and my faith is growing exponentially. I am in a place where I have purpose and a sense of belonging. In the midst of all of this, after a beautiful worship at Bethel's chapel, my phone rings. Nana is calling, and I can’t wait to tell her how everything is going. I answer the phone, and immediately something doesn’t feel right. She begins to talk, and all of the connections, my purpose, and the sense of belonging I feel have suddenly become overshadowed by the weight of the words as they spill from my Nana’s mouth. I hang up the phone. As I weigh the heavy words, I open a browser and search: life expectancy for someone with stage four lung cancer. Nana’s spoken words become muted and meaningless as I process the written words before me. Less than six months. I immediately go home and cry for hours. I sob to God. As I mourn, it hits me that even grief can be limited by the constant force of time. Time’s up. I must put my pain on hold and head to class. 

During this agony, God reminds me that this world is not forever. Forever is either in heaven with God or in hell with Satan. In this moment, I realize Nana has not yet received salvation. I wonder if I will be able to use the Holy Spirit to reach my nana and save her before her time’s up. Immediately I dive into scripture, memorizing stories and passages that I hope will inspire her.

I soon take some time to head up to the hospital to share the gospel with my nana. The room is sterile, with clean white walls and neatly arranged medical equipment. I can hear the faint beeping of monitors. There is a distinct antiseptic smell, a mix of cleaning products and disinfectants. The cool, smooth surface of the metal bed rails feels sleek under my fingers. The air has a slightly metallic taste, likely from the sterilized environment. We begin chatting, and I start by sharing my own personal story of when I received salvation. She is happy for me but still isn’t leaning into the words I am saying. This frustrates me, because I think my story would be powerful enough for her to want to believe. I get emotional and tell her, “Your time is nearly up. This life isn’t forever,” and I begin to cry. I leave the hospital unsuccessful. Deep down, I know God forces no one, but I am determined to save her. 

In what feels like only moments later, I am visiting my nana, and she is declining. I arrive at the hospital late: there is only an hour left of visiting hours. I start sharing the gospel, everything I can from the story of the thief on the cross (Luke 23:39-43) to the story of the jail guard who asks how to receive salvation (Acts 16:30-31). I look up into her eyes and see a flicker of hope as she begins to cry. In this moment, we both realize she is ready. Right before we start the prayer, the nurse walks in: “Times up. Visitation hours are over.” I plead for just five more minutes, but the nurse won't give. Nana, struggling to speak, looks up at me and says, “Next time.” 

Life is a tornado of responsibilities and deadlines for the next few weeks, so much so that even though I try, I can’t make it to the hospital to finish delivering the gospel to my nana. That is until the time comes, and I get a call. Nana’s health has taken a dramatic turn for the worse. I arrive at the hospital as fast as I can, anxious to witness my nana receive salvation. I am excited for her but am also aware her time on earth is limited. “Bittersweet,” I think, as my mind races faster. Lost in my thoughts and feelings, I begin to walk to Nana’s room. I notice a lot of nurses outside her door, perhaps more than normal. As I approach the room, I hear the doctor read aloud the time: 7:07. I rush into the room, and my eyes can’t help but wander to the EKG monitor that is releasing a constant beeping sound. I focus in on the monitor: flat line. “Time’s up.”