She sits alone in the nursing home these days, too weak and sick to go home to her husband.  They keep trying to make her my patient, but I can't.  I won't.  She won't, either.  Right now, therapy isn't a priority.

They tried chemo.  But her heart was too weak to handle it.  Now there's nothing they can do.  Her heart will probably give out before the cancer gets to her.  "They're leaving me to die," she will say to anyone who listens.  "There's nothing more they can do."  And her eyes fill with the fear and sadness of not yet being ready to embrace the end.

Today in Sunday School we read and talk about why we call ourselves Christians and won't share our faith.  And it convicts me.  More people than not are headed straight to hell.  And I do little to nothing to try to change their course.  Why not?  I believe hell exists, and I know it's more terrible and awful and eternal than my mind can grasp.  So what's my problem that I keep my mouth shut and don't share the great news of Jesus with others?

This isn't the first time I've written about this subject.  Exactly a year ago I faced a similar situation with a similar patient.

And now I've returned to this place yet again.

All during class I thought of this woman.  All through church and lunch and my nap she was on my mind.

She's dying.  And she knows it.

Her heart could fail any day.  She could be gone before I get to work tomorrow.

Maybe she's ready; maybe she's not.  Her eyes tell me she doesn't know the peace of heaven.

I should tell her.  Because I know.  He offered it to me, and He offers it to her.  Someone needs to tell her.

Pray for her.

Pray for me.