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Joe Bailey in his book "A View From a Hearse" tells of the day his boy died of cancer. He had returned to the clinic to thank them for their kindness and care of his son. As he spoke to the receptionist, she motioned toward a woman whose son was playing quietly with toys in the waiting area. "He has the same cancer your son had" she said. "Why don’t you go over and see if you can talk with her."

Bailey went reluctantly over to sit next to her and they whispered just out of hearing of the boy. "It must be hard bringing him in for the treatments," he said, more a statement than a question.

"Hard," she turned with anguish in her eyes. "I die everytime I have to bring him in. What makes it worse is that I know it’s not going to stop the cancer and that he’s going to die."

Uncomfortable, Bailey ventured: "Still it is some comfort to know that when that happens there is no more pain and suffering, and that they go to a better place."

"No," hardness in her voice. "When he dies I’m just going to bury him in the cemetery and I’ll never see him again."

Bailey wanted to leave. It was uncomfortable to be reminded of his loss and even more uncomfortable to speak with this woman who obviously had not hope in any way. Then he spoke quietly, "I buried my boy just yesterday, and I’ve only come today to thank the doctors and nurses for their kindness. I know what you’re feeling but I also know that there is a better life for my son now."

"How could you believe such a thing," she challenged.

And then Joe Bailey told her about Jesus.

The hymn writer tells us "I know not why God’s wondrous grace to me he has made known. Nor why, unworthy, Christ in love, redeemed me for His own....

But I know whom I have believed...."

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