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The man next doorChristian witness to a next-door neighbourWhen I heard that Eric had cancer of the bowel, I felt very guilty. I had lived next-door to this 70-year-old man for seven-and-a-half years and never spoken to him of Christ. Somehow it did not seem appropriate now to knock at his door and tell him he needed to be saved. How could I reach this dying man with the message of the gospel when I had done little over the years to show him God's love and had hardly ever prayed for him? Of course, we always said 'hello' to him when we saw him, usually when we were dashing off to a meeting somewhere, and he knew that we went to church. We had done the odd neighbourly thing for him and even taken him to hospital occasionally. I expect he thought that we were decent folk whose social life was at church while his was at the pub. What could I do? I asked God's forgiveness for those wasted years of opportunity and asked God to work in Eric's life. I prayed that if he would not use me, then he would use someone else, but that most of all he would work and deal with Eric while there was still time. I hesitantly brought the matter to the church prayer meeting, realising that by doing so I was making a 'commitment' and would be asked in the future how he was, and could not wriggle out of my responsibility again. I admitted my shortcomings and asked for prayer for Eric and for opportunity to show him Christ. God began to work. Hospital and burglaryI offered to take Eric to hospital whenever he needed and I was very glad when he asked me and kept me informed of his next appointments. My husband kindly rearranged his travel arrangements to work so that I could have the car when necessary. I prayed, we prayed, the church prayed and so the opportunities to serve Eric in a practical way increased. I took him into hospital when he was admitted for his colostomy operation and was able to visit him, as did my husband. Our pastor offered to visit and I was grateful for his offer although wary as to how Eric would react. Eric appreciated the visit. On returning home from hospital, a weak man, Eric was devastated to find his home had been burgled. He gratefully accepted my offer of a meal while he waited for his family to arrive from some distance. Again I told him that if there was anything we could do he must let us know. I did not wish to pester him, nor did I feel I could keep knocking every day to see how he was. Maybe I should have done. Our pastor called to see him at home and again was received warmly. I dropped in a note saying that we were praying that he would know real peace. He was very thankful for our help and I received a lovely 'thank you' card from his sister in London. Eric's bodily weakness restricted his previous twice-daily habit of going to the local pub and strangely enough none of his drinking mates called. His weight loss was dramatic and he seemed to age before our eyes. As he recovered from the operation, he was prescribed chemotherapy and he told me he would be going by ambulance. I felt that perhaps my opportunity to serve him had come to an end, but we all kept praying. Answered prayerA phone call one night, a few weeks later, was an answer to prayer as he asked if I would cook meals for him each day as he could not eat the 'meals on wheels'. I was very thankful for this and began to try to provide for his wasting body, but the chemotherapy made him quite ill and he could eat little. His second chemotherapy appointment approached and he spoke of his dread of it, knowing it would make him feel so ill again. He gratefully accepted my offer to accompany him in the ambulance, but when it arrived an hour earlier than expected and he was not ready, it was agreed that I should take him later by car. Eric could no longer walk down the long hospital corridors and as I found him a wheelchair and nervously pushed him to the appropriate ward, I realised God had given me a love for this poor, dying man that I could not have had naturally. I really did care for him. It was not just a case of making sure I told him the gospel before he died so that I would not feel guilty, but now I knew I really cared about him, Eric, as a person, because God really cared about him. I only hoped he would see it was because I loved God, that I wanted to serve him; not that I was some self-righteous neighbour doing my good deed for the day. On our journey home, we said little. To talk about mundane trivialities seemed insensitive, but nor did I want to force the conversation. The chemotherapy treatment was a traumatic event for him and for me it was a solemn reminder of the way cancer strikes at all types of people and the valiant efforts everyone makes to hold onto life. His health deteriorated rapidly over the next few days. On a visit to him, he said that he would like to see our pastor again if he did not mind. I assured him that he would not mind at all and told him how we prayed for him at the church. Two days later, our pastor visited him and was able to talk to him at length about eternal issues. The next day I went into Eric's and found a very ill man, surrounded by mounds of used tissues and soiled clothing - too weak to help himself. God gave me the fortitude to clean up the mess and all I could think of at the time was what a privilege it is to do anything for someone in Jesus's name. He looked at me pathetically and just said: 'Thank you, I couldn't have done it myself'. The doctor came that lunchtime and within half an hour an ambulance arrived. While I packed his few personal necessities, Eric was lifted into a folding wheelchair, wrapped in a blanket and carried into the ambulance. I went home and cried, wondering if I would ever see him next door again. Pastor's visitTwo days later our pastor visited Eric in hospital and I went later that evening. As I left to go, he lifted his arm to thank me for what I had done. I told him, truthfully, that it had been my privilege. That was Friday. The next day his daughter made the 200-mile trip to visit him, and called on us to bring flowers and her thanks. The next morning she telephoned to say that he had taken a turn for the worse and the hospital had made him comfortable. He died at 11.50 am. We do not know where he stood spiritually. During the following week, I met other members of the family who were very appreciative for the help I had been able to give Eric. His elderly sister, who had travelled up from London, walked two miles to visit me bringing gifts, and her opening remarks to me about God bringing about events led to a wonderful time sharing Christ with her and testifying to his gracious dealings in our lives. She asked if she could write to me and I was delighted at the suggestion. Another sister sent a huge bouquet of flowers for me on the morning of the funeral and at the funeral I was able to speak to another sister and her husband about 'churchy' things, but I have an open invitation to their home which I intend to take up soon. I was able to give letters to the son and daughter expressing my prayerful support for them and enclosing an appropriate leaflet 'Christian help for aching hearts'. I have now written to the London sister, enclosing a booklet. Doors of opportunity are still opening - I pray that I might be faithful to go through them, trusting God. What am I saying through all this? I am not saying: 'Look what I have done'. What I am saying is: 'Look how I failed'. It was seven-and-a-half years before I started to pray seriously for the man next door. I dashed all over the place to Christian meetings, I even went abroad on beach missions, but God graciously 'grounded' me and forgave me and when we began to pray, he began to work. I am saying: 'Look what God has done and is still doing. Look how he forgives us when we come to him. Look what he can do for you.' Kath Dredge,
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