(This story was written by my mother, Beth Lofton, several years ago.)

Ordinarily, depression is foreign to me, but despite my determination to live life to the fullest, I felt myself give in to a lonely, helpless siege of depression. I went through the motions of working and taking care of business matters, but a dark cloud hung heavily over me. God was there with me. I know He was. I had given Him my life, and I knew He was there. But grief is not something I handle well.

It all began when my dad died. He was an important part of my life, an example of what dads should be. I miss him now that he’s gone, but the memory of his good life will always be a part of me. He taught me to deal honestly with everyone. He taught me kindness. He taught me how to bait a hook and how to count to one hundred.

During the year after his death, several other people connected to my family in some way also died. The last month of that year, I lost a friend who was, in many ways, the best friend I ever had. His homespun philosophy, his nonchalant methods of getting his way, and his endless arguments, in which he suddenly switched sides if he didn’t seem to be winning, were bright spots in my dreary days.

The following fall, a co-worker was diagnosed with cancer of the pancreas with no hope of recovery. This outstanding man, encourager of all, caring father and grandfather, devoted husband, doomed to die an early death.

I’ve been a Christian for 42 years and never had there been a time that I felt completely alone in the world. But at that moment, when my friend’s illness was diagnosed as incurable, I felt as though God reached up and pulled down a curtain between us. My experience as a Christian would not let my logic believe that God had withdrawn himself from me. I picked up my Bible for comfort but laid it down without opening it. I went to the piano and played for hours, seeking communication with God, but it did not appear. It was the most desolate feeling I had ever experienced, and it went on and on and on. I could not pray. I could only function from day to day on some sort of “remote control.”

A few months later, my husband had emergency eye surgery for a detached retina. I sat in the surgery waiting room alone, knowing that God was taking care of the matter and that Jim would be fine. I didn’t ask God to do that — I just knew that He would.

The following day Jim was allowed to go home. After driving him there and making sure he was comfortable, I made a quick trip to the grocery store. They had some plants for sale that day, and there was a beautiful Gerbera daisy. It was a deep, rust color, and the leaves were rich and lush. I bought it for Jim because I think all sick people should have flowers.

The daisy remained beautiful for at least two weeks, and then it began to fade and the leaves turned yellow. I took it to the back yard and planted it in a big, iron pot, not really believing that it had much chance to live. I watered it that day and remembered to do so another time or two. However, it continued to turn brown, and I forgot it, thinking it would not live.

One day several weeks later, I stood at the kitchen sink looking out into the back yard, when a little bit of color caught my eye. “No,” I thought, “it couldn’t be the daisy.” Quickly, I went to the site of the color, and there, in all its splendor, stood the most exquisite rust colored daisy I have ever seen, surrounded by perfect, luxuriant dark green leaves. At that moment it was as if God spoke to me audibly, for I heard as plainly as ever I have heard anything, “You see, I am here. I have been here all the time. I’m still in control of my world and all of my children!”

I sometimes lose touch with you, Dear Lord,

Your light I cannot see.

But you are faithful. You’re always there.

You never lose touch with me.

I was visiting with my patient, Sandi, who had recently been diagnosed with late-stage cancer. Her prognosis was poor, and she was going to stay with her brother and his wife in another state — for the rest of her life.

I had met her a year or so earlier when her husband was a cancer patient. She was one of those special people who connects easily with everyone. Even in the midst of her sorrow about her husband, she was endearing to everyone who met her.

After he passed away, I lost touch with her until one day I saw a familiar address on my patient list. I was shocked to find that it was her. Now it was her turn with cancer.

The really sad part of it all is that she was not a believer in Jesus. So on this day of my last visit, I prayed inwardly that God would come to her and she would respond to him and want a relationship with Jesus. We talked about God and the afterlife, but she didn’t believe in him.

As we chatted, she was her typical positive self until she suddenly stopped and said, “I guess I need to pack. But what do you pack when you are going away to die?”

At that moment, we both knew that nothing material mattered any more. Her life was going to end. Soon. What was really important now?

Before she left town, she threw herself a big party! She invited everyone she knew, which was a lot of people. She wanted to be able to tell her friends goodbye in person.

We had a mutual friend who was invited to the party. As the friend and I talked about her opportunity to see Sandi one more time, my friend decided to give her a card encouraging her to know Jesus by reading the book of John in the Bible. We both prayed diligently for her. We don’t know what happened.

But we know that God loves every person and wants them to be with him forever. Whether she chose to respond to him, we can’t know right now. What this reminds me of, though, is that none of us know how much time we have remaining on this earth. Only God knows.

If you don’t have a relationship with Jesus, I hope you will read the book of John. God has a gift for you!

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in him will have eternal life.” (John 3:16)

I drove up to a small, white house with peeling paint and a very overgrown yard. In the front sat a big, old, broken-down car that looked like it had been there for thirty years.

I knocked on the door and eventually was greeted by an elderly woman who hesitantly invited me in. Since she was virtually deaf, she couldn’t hear her phone, so we, the home health staff, had to just drop by and hope we could bang loud enough for her to hear the door.

When I entered the house, I could not see any part of the floor. There were various things piled a couple of feet high in the entire living room. As I looked around, trying to find something positive to say, I noticed her Christmas tree. “What a pretty Christmas tree!” I commented, even though it was springtime. “I keep it up all year,” she replied.

She directed me to sit on the couch, which was covered with newspapers, mail, old store ads, and more. There was nowhere to sit. Sensing my thoughts, she went over and scooped up the pile on one end, pushing it to the side to make a place for me to sit. When she let go of the pile, it filled in the spot on the couch, just like when you try to dig a hole in sand.

I sat there anyway.

Her recliner was where she lived. There was a trail to the kitchen. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a bad smell. I didn’t see roaches or mice, but I knew they were there.

The most amazing thing was that this woman didn’t mind living this way. In an odd way, I think she found it comforting — like living in a big hug. An agency sent someone to help her every week. I’m not sure what they did other than try to keep the kitchen relatively clean. She wouldn’t let anyone help her clean up the house.

After talking with her for a while, I accepted that this is how she chose to live. She had relatives in the area that came to get her for holiday dinners. They were there if she needed them. But she didn’t want them to help her clean up her house.

Some people don’t understand how a person can be left to live like this. Even though she was in her late 90’s, she had enough of her mind to make her own decisions. Adult protective services knew her well. Every now and then someone would call and file a report on her, but the workers basically just went in and visited with her.

Jesus met people where they were in life. I’m not sure if there were hoarders in those days, but there were all kinds of people. From dishonest tax collectors, to prostitutes and beggars, he loved them all. He saw past the baggage, to see their hearts. That’s where his work was done.

As I looked at this woman, I accepted where she was in life. She had a kind heart. I wanted her to know that she was loved just as she was.