MY BROTHER’S HOME GOING

It seems to always be around Christmastime when people think of their family, especially relatives who have passed away. This certainly happens to me each year, because both my parents and my brother are gone. If you have the same kind of feelings, I hope you will do as I do: treasure the good memories and celebrate them.
Today my thoughts rest particularly with my brother, Evan, who died so many years ago at the age of 14. I continue to miss him. But I realize there was a time in the midst of Evan’s suffering when God helped me to deal with the heartache I felt during his illness. How my world changed during that experience!
When we learned Evan had developed cancer, we took him from our home in Shreveport, LA, to M. D. Anderson Cancer Hospital in Houston, TX. During that time, I was struggling to show my faith and speak it out loud for Evan, and I was doing all I could to keep a positive attitude. But when I walked through the door of M. D. Anderson, a hospital that was totally dedicated to cancer patients, I found myself overwhelmed. So many other people were experiencing the same kind of emotions, and none of us could escape the reality we faced.
Everyone in our family was trying so hard to be brave and strong, while inside we were falling apart. But interestingly, my little brother and so many of the cancer patients I saw that day seemed calm—even at peace. They were hearing the frightening news just as their family members were, but somehow they took it with so much grace.
I wasn’t doing so well at the time, so I asked to be excused and went back to our hotel room where I could pray. I fell on the bed and, for quite a while, just wept. I remember thinking, How am I going to handle this? Then instantly, I realized “I” wasn’t the one facing the bad news; Evan was the victim, and he seemed to be doing fine. So, I wiped away my tears and reached for my Bible.
When I opened it, I found myself in the Book of Psalms. After reading several psalms, I began to realize how we all have our moments of panic or fear. But I also read many words of encouragement in those psalms. The writers seemed to understand what suffering and anguish were all about. It helped me so much to see how they expressed their needs by crying out to the Lord, while always resolving that, no matter what, they would put their trust in Him.
That day I made the same decision: I will put my trust in the Lord. So, by faith, I returned to the hospital, and ultimately lived through the loss of my brother.
Can we explain it? I don’t think so. But I, for one, am so grateful that the Lord was with me in my time of need—and He has never left me! I pray that, in whatever situation you are facing today, you will draw truth from God’s Word and know that His love for you will see you through any circumstances.
After Evan’s diagnosis of cancer, he traveled back and forth to Houston for radiation and chemotherapy treatments. After about six months, he made his last trip there. When I heard the news of how serious his condition had become, I headed for Houston. I got there about 30 minutes before he died.
Evan and I were the only Christians in our family at the time, so there was a great bond between us. Though he was 12 years younger, he was very much like a son to me. Through those six months of his desperate illness, we prayed together and believed God for his healing. There were many times that we could see the hand of the Lord in Evan’s life, and we were careful to never speak anything but faith-filled words on his behalf.
The last conversation I had with him was by phone after he had made a drastic turn for the worst.
I asked him, “Evan, are you afraid?”
His answer came back swiftly and strongly: “No, I’m not.” Then he reminded me of the many times he had told me how he loved the Lord and had no fear of death. Evan’s strength was steadfast to the end.
When I heard the words, “Your brother has died,” something very strange happened within me. I felt as if a bubble of peace had engulfed me. I suppose some might think I was in shock; but if I was, I am still in shock today!
Somehow our family got through the finalization of things there in Houston, so late that evening my husband and I began our trip back home to Shreveport. It was a very quiet ride in the car, and I took solace looking out the window to a very clear sky, full of stars. For some reason, that made me feel close to God.
All of a sudden, as I was looking up at the sky, I saw a figure off to the left. I blinked my eyes several times to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. Then I realized I was looking at Jesus, and He was wearing a beautiful white robe. As He stood there, I saw that He was looking another way, so my gaze followed His. Then I saw my brother, Evan—standing there in perfect health, with a head full of dark brown hair. He was obviously more mature than a 14-year-old.
As I watched, the Lord beckoned my brother to come to Him. When Evan began moving toward Jesus, he was embraced so completely by the Lord that he seemed to disappear into Him. Then I heard the Lord say, “It’s okay now, Evan—you’re home.”
From that moment to this, I thank the Lord for the comfort I felt then—and still feel today. In his death, my brother became truly alive in the arms of God. As the Word says, O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? (1 Cor. 15:55).
I wish so much that I could have an answer for why my brother died. I know God heals, for He has healed me many times. I know He is no respecter of persons and His promises are for all. I believe in and have received healing that was provided for all of us by the stripes Jesus took on His back before He died on the cross. I truly believe healing is the children’s bread.
One thing I know for sure is that my brother died without fearing death, and the Lord gave me a beautiful picture in living color of Evan’s home going.
I’ve not been given too many visions, but the dramatic vision the Lord gave me that night of Evan being completely healed and restored to the arms of Jesus was certainly a great strength, and also a beautiful picture of life after death. As it says in one psalm, Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints (Ps. 116:15). I never really understood this until I saw that vision of my brother. You see, we look at death as an end, while our Lord looks at it as a beginning. It is so precious to our heavenly Father when He sees His children come home.
After experiencing the vision I had received the night Evan died, I thought nothing could ever compare to that moment of comfort God had provided. But at the same time, while having peace in my spirit, I could feel pain in my soul.
Several years later, while ministering in Arkansas, I was staying at the home of a dear friend. She took me to the back bedroom and showed me a closet where I could put my things. When she left the room, something in the closet caught my eye. Leaning up against the wall was a painting, so I bent down to see what it was. And when I saw it, I nearly fainted! It was a picture of a heavenly scene of clouds with Jesus facing forward and holding in His arms a young man with dark brown hair. The name given on the picture was Coming Home. At that moment I saw in a beautifully painted portrait what I had seen on a dark night while driving from Houston after Evan’s death.
Coincidence, you say? I think not. That painting was a confirmation to me.
What I had seen that night in the sky was not my imagination; I believe I had truly seen my brother’s home going.
The feelings of peace and comfort I received were legitimate, and they are still with me today. The truth was there for me to find and for the Lord to show me.
One day I will be where my brother is, and I too will be home.
Precious saints, Jesus IS our Home!