IFTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO A BABY GIRL was handed out through a train window. However, the mother of this child stayed in the train. She was my grandmother. Her husband had been executed, and she had to give her only child away. Why? Because the train was heading to Siberia, and her little daughter would not survive there. Thus she had lost everything that mattered to her. But this brave decision to give away her only child gave me my mother. And it was the love for my mother that taught me one of the hardest lessons of my life.

The Legacy of Love
My mother gathered all of her adult children together. She had something to say to us. She was dying. The cancer that started 10 years ago in her breast had spread to almost every place in her body.

She told us that she had decided to avoid all medical treatment. She said she had peace with her God and did not fear death, but she was afraid of the way in which death would come. That frightened me too.

The next day she was so weak she could no longer get out of the bed. Her condition worsened in hours. Even the doctor was surprised at how quickly it happened.

When I was 3 years old, our father left our family. My mother, who was a nurse, was now responsible for five mouths to feed. During the Communist era in Estonia life was not easy for her. But she created for me and my brother and two sisters a childhood that we will always remember as the best time in our lives. We had everything we needed: food on our table, clothes to wear, and a roof above our heads. 1 don't think that I can really understand the effort that my mother gave to care for us.

Now, as I sat beside her bed, thinking of all that she had done for us, yet how much heartache we had caused her with our thoughtlessness and even with our indifference, the extent of her love became clear to me. However, during those last days we spent with her, she said nothing else but how good her children were for her. Though it caused her a lot of suffering, every time she opened her eyes and saw us, she smiled. Often she raised her hands, and in the beginning I didn't understand what she wanted. How could I help her? I finally realized that she wanted to hug us! She wanted to let us know how much she loved us.

The cancer was also in her lungs, which made her breathing difficult. Because of that she could not stand still. I read to her from the book The Desire of Ages. It seemed to calm her. But still she could not sleep, or even experience 10 minutes of peace. I spent one entire night beside her bed, trying to help her, but there was nothing I could do. I hoped that my presence spoke for itself. We talked about the days we spent together when I was a little boy, the joys and sorrows that we had to go through. The memories of that night with my mother and the things we spoke of will always be with me.

The Prayer for Rest
Of course, the "why" question came into my mind. Why is this happening to my mother? What is the purpose of this suffering? She was ready to go, however. She had been preparing herself for this last hour for almost the entire last year. I prayed that night as I had never done before; especially I prayed that she could sleep for at least 10 minutes. There are prayers that seem not to rise high enough to reach God. That night I felt that I could give up all the other prayer answers if only this small prayer could find its fulfillment: "Please let my mother get some rest." But she did not. I felt pain for my mother, and I did not understand why God could not answer me.

Her condition continued to worsen. Each moment while with her I thought about how easily I could breathe, and how hard it was for her to breathe. When I awoke in the morning, I understood that the night had again been a real battle for her. Some lessons can't be learned by books or papers--and I was learning one of those lessons. I saw love that hurt, and I understood that for my mom this love for us had always meant pain.

We, her children, had spent those few days and nights beside her bed, but how many countless days had she taken care of us? Four children with their mistakes, wishes, flaws, and teenage years. Her love did not mean only our birthdays or Christmas holidays. It was shown also during the punishment she had to give us.

Love hurts. I believe that in this world it always does. Because you care, you receive part of others' pain. When I read the chapters from The Desire of Ages to my mom about the sufferings of Jesus, something else became clear to me: If we are ready to love, even in pain, then we have found the real reason for this life. 1 was ready to give my life so that my mother could live. I would take her sufferings on me so that she could breathe normally. But it was not possible. Instead, I understood that she had given her life for me and my sisters and brother, and had fulfilled her purpose in this life.

The Prayer for Peace
It was now Thursday night. The day had been very difficult for her. At least she was in the hospital where they could do something to make her feel more comfortable. I had to go home soon, and leave her alone with her pain and sorrow. I hugged her, and hoped that it would be an easier night for her. I went to my car and just sat in there, looking at the window where my mother was. I prayed. I prayed harder than ever before. I prayed something that I would have never thought I would have to ask God. "God, please, let my mother die. In the name of Jesus, take her away and give her peace!" I thought about the promise of Jesus: "And whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son" (John 14:13). And so I repeated: "In the name of Jesus, take her!"

The next morning I went to the hospital, and she was asleep. Her doctor told me that they gave her some strong medicine that put her to sleep. She slept the entire day. She opened her eyes only a couple of times, and when she saw us she again smiled. Yet in the latter part of the day I don't think she recognized us anymore, because she didn't smile anymore. But she didn't suffer anymore, either.

At 8:00 on Sabbath morning I received a phone call. Fortunately, even if I live to be 80 years old, there is only one day that I have to say the words "My mother died today." But it's also the day that I received the answer to my hardest prayer--the prayer that did not represent my desire, but represented love that hurt. For I believe that God placed within me the realization that while it would hurt tremendously to lose my mother, it was even more painful for her to hang on to life.

I understand now the pain that my grandmother must have experienced in giving away her only child 58 years ago. I wonder if that day she, too, had to pray the hardest prayer of her life.

_________________________
Lauri Beekmann is editor of the Estonian Conference magazine in Tartu, Estonia. His wife, Averonika, recently gave birth to their first child.