More than a cough
It felt as though I stood on the threshold of life and death. I raised my head to catch my reflection staring back at me in the mirror. Those brown eyes no longer floated in a sea of ivory. No, they drifted aimlessly, as though seeking help, in a bath of crimson. There was not a hair in place. Each little strand seemed to seek its own direction.
It was a long crusade, yet I wasn’t even half way through the adventure. I was more than two hours from the land I called home. My occupation caused me to wander this distance. The Inn was preselected for me; my voice made no difference in the selection. These were perhaps some of the worst quarters I have ever been stationed.
I turned off the light and headed toward the bed. Maybe time had taken its toll and my eyes would be given no choice but to close. My heart cheered that choice since it knew the wariness of my body. It wasn’t meant to be. The pneumonia that rested in my lungs found no friendly companion in the musty air that filled the room. The constant clicking of the air conditioning unit only added another annoying feature to this trial. What little air did circulate made its presence clearly heard every few minutes by loudly announcing its arrival and departure. My nerves looked over the edge of sanity and wondered whether they should jump. With no other refuge, I decided to pick up my pen and write.
My illness made no attempt to knock on the door of my body and wait for an invitation to come in. No, like a thief in the night, it bashed in the window and climbed through when I least expected it. Pain, dizziness, nausea, and a general lack of energy, which usually reside in distant lands, decide to take up residence within my body. It got so bad, I decided to do the unthinkable. Yes, I went and saw a doctor.
I knew the doctor would want to run an array of test to cover every possible condition that has ever existed. Then I figured he would reenter the room wearing his golden crown and majestic music would play in the background. He would stretch his royal hand in my direction. In that hand would be the gift of a magic pill that would make it all go away.
This time the band forgot to arrive and he must have misplaced his crown. The pill he offered came in a plain plastic bottle and not in the golden encasement I was expecting. Pneumonia, an ear infection, and who knows what else, were his judgment. I was to take the pill to see if there was any magic in it. This time it wasn’t a cure pill, it was a possible cure pill. He said I might possibly start feeling better in two to three days. My hotel visit above came at the close of the second day.
The company I work for had long planned a customer event at one of our stores. This hotel, where my suffering held its party, sat just a few minutes from that store. There were many associate shortages, so my escape from the assignment was almost impossible. I was part of a team sent to rally customer support. This required two consecutive days, prior to the main event, of visiting customers. This included many customer visits, with my boss, to customers who I was unfamiliar with. By noon, the first day, my voice was almost completely gone. The rest I sought, that first night, was mentioned above.
As I sit here writing, my hope is that exhaustion will consume me. Then my body will have no choice but to choose rest. The eyelids will have no strength to lift their cover. My hope was that my arms would be weakened to the point that tossing back and forth across the bed was not an option. Yes, I hope rest will come. Deep, solid rest.
They were an unbeatable one-two punch. They were best friends. In fact, I believe, they are the only best friends to both become Presidents. They didn’t live too far from each other and in their retirement they did a lot of things together.
One of their projects was to build a university. They narrowed their choices of towns to three: Lexington, Staunton, or Charlottesville. Lexington had a college, Washington College, so it would be easier to turn that college into a university. Upon further inspection, though, it was discovered that the college was deep in debt. The interest in that college and town quickly waned. Staunton had no college, but Charlottesville did: Central College. So Central College and Charlottesville was the choice.
On March 29th, one of the former Presidents went to Charlottesville for the first meeting of the Board of Visitors of the new university. He brought along his wife. His wife and he were often seen walking the campus, even when he became old and frail. Even when he gave up the post of Rector, people would note how his much taller wife would walk arm in arm with her frail, crippled old husband and help him across the campus. Central College would become the University of Virginia.
Then one day very bad news came to him. His best friend, Thomas Jefferson, had passed away. It was July 4, 1826, the fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. News would arrive later that our second President, John Adams, had died later that same day. Five years, to the day, another one of his good friends, James Monroe, our fifth President, also died on July 4th; July 4, 1831. Most of his generation was now gone. The frail old man must have felt very alone.
I don’t know about you, but I really like to eat. If I go too long without food I start to shake. That is one way you can really tell that I’m sick. I will eat very little and only a have a handful of foods that sound appealing. During some of these episodes I can lose twenty pounds. I guess everyone has their weaknesses; mine seems to be food.
It is one of the longest fasts in the Bible. It lasted forty days. Thank goodness, I have never been sick that long, but I can only imagine how tough that might have been. He had to be very hungry and the devil knew it. “It’s easy to make that hunger go away,” the devil would tell him. “Just turn those stones to bread.” Despite his hunger, Jesus would not listen. Tempted again, the devil took Jesus to the top of the Temple. “You know what would be really cool? Jump off this Temple and let those angels rescue you before you hit the ground,” the devil would exclaim. Still Jesus would have none of it and he refused.
As July 4, 1836 approached, James Madison’s already frail health rapidly declined. He knew the end was near. Would he become the fourth President, and Founding Father, to die on the anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence? The end of June approached and he laid at the steps of death’s door. Everyone was suggesting that he take stimulants to extend his life so he could claim another Independence Day.
As James Madison laid on his deathbed, his thoughts turned not on making it to the next Independence Day, but being one of last to “handoff” this fairly new country to the next generation. I’m sure his thoughts could have turned on this new generation. After all, his name stood there with such greats as Washington, Jefferson, Franklin, Hamilton, Adams, and a host of others we call our Founding Fathers. Few were probably left who even remembered the rebel colonists’ fierce battles with Britain. Then came the bickering within the new nation over a Constitution. He had been called the Father of the Constitution for all the efforts he put into that document. Was there anyone left who remembered that? Yes, it would be very easy to see how someone would fear all that effort might be forgotten and gone to waste.
As Madison laid on that bed, he had no such fear. He knew the America he had worked so hard to form was not about its history, but it was about its future. His generation had laid the groundwork on the path to something great. It was now up to the next generation to add to those accomplishments. He didn’t want them to be reminded of what he had accomplished. No, he wanted them to forge ahead and make our land even greater. He asked not to be given any stimulant to extend his life just a few more days. So, six days before the United States celebrated its sixtieth birthday, on June 28, 1836, James Madison breathed his last breath. He alone sits among Presidents two through five (Adams, Jefferson, Monroe), who did not die on the fourth of July and it was all his choice. No other Presidents have died on the fourth of July.
Jesus’ third trial came as he stood on top of a mountain with a beautiful view. He could see for miles. The devil would say, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? You know, it can all be yours? All I asked is that you bow down and worship me and presto, it’s yours.” Jesus could have taken him up on that offer. Jesus could have gained all the things we sometimes crave. Money, fame, good health, a long life, possessions, and almost anything he could have imagined could have been his. Jesus said, “No!” Jesus gave it all up because he knew eternal life isn’t about the things we gain from our life here on earth.
I guess there come moments in life when individuals stand on the mountain tops, or gaze into the mirror, or just lie in the bed in pain. We wonder if it is really worth it. We believe our absence at an event might cause its ruin. Yet our attendance will quickly be forgotten in a couple of weeks when the next big event comes around. That belief, that looks so enticing, is hidden with strings that will be used to trip us up. Our self-importance ties our freedom to a recognition that may not come. Wisdom, which is sometimes lacking in those moments, is the only effective weapon in that battle. And serving your life for only the glory it could bring you is really not a very happy life at all.
Prayer: Dear Mighty Father, Thank You that I am feeling so much better. Thank you that there are people, like James Madison, who realize life isn’t only about our residence on this planet. Thank you for Jesus and his example of standing up to the temptation that his life was to fulfill His own self-worth. He knew He was called to a higher purpose. Amen!
