Mr. Doug

I am heartbroken.  I hardly knew "Mr. Doug"; but I loved him.  Though I didn't realize how much I loved him, until I heard that he was in the hospital, on a ventilator, unresponsive.  I poured my heart out to God for him.  But it was then too late for me to tell Doug how much he meant to me.  I am so angry at myself, for not having done more to reach out to him when I had the chance.  Memories of him driving his truck by my house and honking his horn at me . . . do not comfort me.  The few times I was with him I -- looking back -- I feel I was not as bold and earnest as I should have been to try to lead him to Christ.  How can I forgive myself . . . when I can never make that right with Doug, or with God -- or with myself?  My only comfort, my only hope, is that in the few days that Doug lingered, God, who is so merciful, somehow came to Doug and gave him another opportunity to receive Jesus.

I suppose Doug never knew I loved him, or that he holds a special place in my heart.  The thought of that torments me.  But it torments me even more not knowing whether Doug is with the Lord, in peace.

How is it that someone like Doug can so deeply touch another's heart (like mine), though I barely knew him?  A far better question, I'm sure, is: How is it that I am still, evidently, so blind to the greatness of God's love; and, to the urgency of man's eternal need; and, how profoundly our souls are bound up together with others in this life?

I want Doug back.  I want to tell him I love him as a real friend. I want to tell him all about Jesus, and about the life that Christ wants so much to give him.  But if I were a real friend, I would not have failed to tell him all those things -- when I had the opportunity.

A year or so ago, I lost another dear friend very unexpectedly.  I did a few repair jobs for Peter, at his Chinese restaurant.  Other than that we never spent much time together.  But I loved Peter and his young family.  Every time I was with him I tried to turn our conversation to Christ.  Peter would smile and simply reply that he was Buddhist.  Peter died instantly in a horrible car wreck.  I grieved many days for him.  I promised myself that I would never let another soul that came into my life slip through my hands.

Now, Doug is gone.  It's unbearable for me to try to look back, in my mind, to contemplate Doug's life, his hurts, his loneliness, his hopes . . . his future....

I wonder if what I'm feeling now, may be just a little taste of how God felt when he looked down upon all of us and saw the suffering and hopelessness of our lost condition?  Not willing that any of us should perish.  Not willing, for his own love's sake, to lose any of us to eternal separation from himself.  But I dare not begin to compare my love, nor my heartache, to His.

I feel wounded -- with such a wound that seems likely will leave a scar upon my soul.  But my heartache is not the wound.  Doug's being taken from me as he was, is the wound.  And, not knowing....

Dear God, O, please, forgive me.

In a certain place, Jesus said: "Of all that the Father hath given me, I have lost none -- except the son of perdition...."

I can't go back.  I would if I could.  I can't even look back; it's too painful.  May God have mercy on me and help me never, never, to fail Him again.