by Malz, Betty
The wall to my right was higher now and made of many-colored, multi-tiered stones. A light from the other side of the wall shone through a long row of amber-colored gems several feet above my head. “Topaz,” I thought to myself. “The November birthstone.” I remembered this from working in Edwards Jewelry store in New Castle, Indiana, before my marriage to John. November 6th is my birthday.[1]
Just as we crested the top of the hill, I heard my father’s voice calling, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.” His voice was a long distance away. I thought about turning back to find him. I did not because I knew my destination was ahead. We walked along in silence save for the whisper of a gentle breeze ruffling the white, sheer garments of the angel.
We came upon a magnificent, silver structure. It was like a palace except there were no towers. As we walked toward it, I heard voices. They were melodious, harmonious, blending in chorus and I heard the word, “Jesus.” There were more than four parts to their harmony. I not only heard the singing and felt the singing but I joined the singing. I have always had a girl’s body, but a low boy’s voice. Suddenly I realized I was singing the way I had always wanted to . . . in high, clear, and sweet tones.
After a while the music softened, then the unseen voices picked up a new chorus. The voices not only burst forth in more than four parts, but they were in different languages. I was awed by the richness and perfect blending of the words—and I could understand them! I do not know why this was possible except that I was part of a universal experience.
While the angel and I walked together I sensed we could go wherever we willed ourselves to go and be there instantly. Communication between us was through the projection of thoughts. The words sung in all the different languages were understandable, but I don’t know how or why. We all seemed to be on some universal wave length.
I thought at the time, “I will never forget the melody and these words.” But later I could only recall two: “Jesus” and “redeemed.”
The angel stepped forward and put the palm of his hand upon a gate which I had not noticed before. About twelve feet high, the gate was a solid sheet of pearl, with no handles and some lovely scroll work at the top of its Gothic structure. The pearl was translucent so that I could almost, but not quite, see inside. The atmosphere inside was somehow filtered through. My feeling was of ecstatic joy and anticipation at the thought of going inside.
When the angel stepped forward, pressing his palm on the gate, an opening appeared in the center of the pearl panel and slowly widened and deepened as though the translucent material was dissolving. Inside I saw what appeared to be a street of golden color with an overlay of glass or water. The yellow light that appeared was dazzling. There is no way to describe it. I saw no figure, yet I was conscious of a Person. Suddenly I knew that the light was Jesus, the Person was Jesus.
I did not have to move. The light was all about me. There seemed to be some heat in it as if I were standing in sunlight; my body began to glow. Every part of me was absorbing the light. I felt bathed by the rays of a powerful, penetrating, loving energy.
The angel looked at me and communicated the thought: “Would you like to go in and join them?”
I longed with all my being to go inside, yet I hesitated. Did I have a choice? Then I remembered my father’s voice. Perhaps I should go and find him.
“I would like to stay and sing a little longer, then go back down the hill!” I finally answered. I started to say something more. But it was too late.
The gates slowly melted into one sheet of pearl again and we began walking back down the same beautiful hill. This time the jeweled wall was on my left and the angel walked on my right.
Then I saw the sun coming up over the wall. This surprised me since it was already very light and there seemed to be no passing of time. It was a lovely sunrise. The topaz and other stones glowed brilliantly. I remember noticing that the wall now made a deep shadow on my side.
Walking down the hill I looked into Terre Haute as the worlds of spirit and time and space began to fuse back together. Ahead of me were many church steeples glistening in the morning sun. I was suddenly aware of God’s love for all His churches. It was a sudden bit of knowledge, as if I were being told this on the inside by the Holy Spirit. At that moment I loved all His churches too; and as my prejudices dissolved, I loved all His people.
Then I saw the tops of trees, then the hospital. My eyes seemed to bore through the walls of the hospital like laser beams, down the hall of the third floor to Room 336. I saw a figure on the bed with a sheet pulled over it.
After my descent I slowed down and stopped. The sun’s rays were in my eyes. There were dust particles in the light which suddenly changed to wavy letters about two inches high flashing before me like a ticker-tape message. The letters seemed composed of translucent ivory, only fluid—moving through the rays of sun.
I was back in my hospital bed now and the letters stretched all the way from the window, past my bed and on into the room. They read: I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.
The words were so alive that they pulsated. I knew that I had to touch those living words. I reached up and out and pushed the sheet off my face. At that instant the Word of God literally became life to me. The warmth in the moving letters flowed into my fingers and up my arm. I sat up in bed!
No man can claim credit for my healing. The Lord had sent forth His WORD and healed me (Ps. 107:20). Days before, the man Art had read this Scripture at the foot of my bed.
Promise became reality . . . hope became fact.
My father was staring at me in a state of shock. I noticed him only for a moment. I was still seeking out the unearthly light in the room, determined to find its source. My eyes went to the window. Outside was a glorious sight—the green grass on the lawn of the hospital. I had been too sick to see it before, too busy for years to notice how beautiful green grass can be.
Then I saw another beautiful sight outside. A black man. He was carrying on his shoulder a case of soft drinks into the building. I had never before cared for black people. Yet I now felt a great love for that man. God was continuing His healing work in me.
At last I looked at my father standing by my bed. He was still stunned, too startled to cry out, or hug me, or shed tears of joy. Rather he was rooted to the spot, struck dumb with awe before the majesty of the working of God.
__________________
[1]. Editor’s note: Betty was later to discover that the 21st chapter of Revelation, verses 19–20, described the heavenly city whose walls were to be adorned with precious stones. The first foundation was jasper; the second sapphire . . . the ninth, topaz. If each foundation was about a foot high, this would place topaz about three feet higher than Betty’s head.
8
My Changed World
I tried to tell Dad about the experience I had just been through on the other side, but I don’t think he really heard me. He just kept smiling at me and squeezing my hand, tears sliding down his cheeks. His eyes seemed to devour me.
When the young nurse’s aide popped into the room and saw me sitting up in bed, she screamed, “Ma’am, you’re a ghost!” Her black face was ashen. I reached for her hand, surprised by the warm feeling inside that made me want to hug her and reassure her. “Tell the floor nurse, I’m not only alive, but I feel wonderful.”
The young aide scurried away and soon the chief nurse, with a shocked expression on her face, was wheeling back into the room the life support equipment that had been removed. Jubilant calls were made to John, who had just arrived at the station, and Mother.
The nurses wanted to put the tubes back in me but I shook my head. “I’m sure I don’t need them any more. I’m hungry. Please tell Dr. Bherne that I want some real food.”
Then I picked up the telephone and dialed my elderly paternal grandmother, Mom Perky. She was in her eighties, a gentle, old-fashioned servant of the Lord. “Hello, Mom Perky, this is Betty! Do you beli
eve in miracles? I’m sitting up here in bed feeling great.” God love her, she was so confused. She had been ill for a long time and Mother had called just a short time before to tell her I had died. She now thought we were both in heaven and talking there on the phone.
Minutes later John arrived in my room, so moved he didn’t quite know what to do. He stood next to Dad, staring at me, trying to understand the journey I had taken. Every now and then he would reach over and pat me on the shoulder, or on my knee or the arm, or my side to see if I was real.
There sure wasn’t much left of me—just an emaciated yellowish-green face and a skinny disintegrated eighty-pound skeleton of a body. But how alive I felt!
Dr. Bherne was the next to arrive. I’ll probably never know what conversation took place between him and the floor nurse before he walked into my room. He gave me a long, careful look, paying little attention to my excited chatter. Then he began a careful examination. I noticed a tremor in his hand when he applied the stethoscope. Finally, he flashed me a cautious smile.
“You are indeed much better,” he said.
“The Lord has healed me,” I replied. “I died about an hour ago. I met Him over there and He let me return. It was in incredibly beautiful experience.”
The doctor looked uncomfortable. “Some things happen which we can’t explain. Whatever it was—you seem to be much improved.”
“How do you explain my sudden recovery?”
He smiled, “I believe in things I can personally explain.”
Several of my relatives arrived and the doctor started to leave. “Before you go, Dr. Bherne, I want you to know that I’m very hungry. When do I eat real food?”
It was the first time I had wanted solid food since the night of the bad pain down in Florida.
The doctor shook his head. “You must go very slow on that. Perhaps some 7-Up on ice to start.”
The festive air continued in my room all morning as a stream of relatives arrived. It was a victory party. Two more doctors appeared to examine and question me. But the 7-Up on ice never appeared.
Around noon the young nurse’s aide brought me a tray. On it were two pork chops, applesauce, cottage cheese, a square of lemon cake with warm sauce and a pot of tea. Hungrily I ate every morsel, thinking it the most delicious food I ever tasted.
Shortly thereafter a flustered nurse came in to examine my tray, pursued by an irate patient named Mrs. Underwood who had been served nothing but a few ounces of 7-Up for lunch. Upchurch and Underwood—it was easy to see how the mix-up occurred. Sure enough, behind the teapot on my tray was a card with Underwood on it.
Minutes later the nurse returned with a mobile unit. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to pump out your stomach.”
Every fiber of my body protested that this was not necessary. “Please . . . please,” I insisted. “The food was so good. It went down so smoothly and I feel just fine.”
The nurse continued unrolling the tubing. “Orders are orders,” she replied.
“I’m sorry,” I said more firmly. “But I have lost so much weight that this nourishment is desperately needed.” She wavered. “I promise to ring you the moment I think I’m in trouble,” I continued.
Reluctantly, the nurse retreated with her unit. “Lord,” I prayed, “please help digest this food.”
The process of eating, digestion and elimination is so routine with most of us that we never appreciate what a miraculously smooth operation it is until something goes wrong. The next few hours was a time of great suspense. I hadn’t eaten real food in weeks. Would the pork and applesauce and cottage cheese pass through the digestive tract? If there was a problem, my stomach would quickly flash the warning signal.
Several hours went by as relatives continued to come and go. The body gave its sign and I pushed the call button. When the nurse appeared apprehensively, I flashed her my brightest smile. “Would you help me to the bathroom, please?”
Wobbly as I was, it was like a triumphant procession. And how can I describe my jubilation to find that all my plumbing worked?
The next morning Dr. Bherne closed the door to my room, examined me carefully and then sat down in a chair by the bed. Seeing that he had also adjusted a second chair near his, I pointed to it. “Anyone else coming to this pity party? Or is it a welcome back party?”
He laughed for the first time. “That chair there is for gangrene to set in!” he replied humorously.
I laughed too. How good it sounded!
I liked Dr. Bherne. He had been very negative about my chances; he was a somber man, but a fine doctor, a skilled surgeon. I felt a sudden burst of gratitude for the hours of care he had given me.
Now I really saw him for the first time; a short man with rimless eyeglasses, furrowed brow, graying thinning hair closely cropped. His eyes were friendly, but somewhat disapproving. I sensed he was about to give a sober serious talk about what the illness had done to me.
“I think we can release you from the hospital in a few days,” he began. “This is good news, of course. We are delighted by your comeback. But you have been a desperately sick woman for a long time. It will be many months before we know the extent of the damage to your system.” Then he went on to tick off the areas which were of concern to him. It seemed that the infection had collided with nearly every organ in my body.
“We did not remove your reproductive organs,” he continued, “but I could tell that they were severely damaged by the gangrenous infection. There is such a thin membrane between the appendix and the ovaries that peritonitis is always a severe threat to a woman’s fertility. In your case, there is hardly one chance in a hundred that you could conceive, one in a thousand that the baby would be normal. In fact, the odds are probably even worse than that.
“I strongly urge you and your husband to use contraceptives from now on. Considering the massive infection which bombarded your ovaries, I also suggest that you consider having them removed sometime soon. A deformed child is quite a price to pay for carelessness, although I do not believe there is much chance you could conceive under any circumstances.”
When he had finished his lecture, the doctor gave me that approving smile he reserved for cooperative patients and left to make his rounds.
It was several days before Nurse Mary Barton returned to duty. She came into the room, stood at the foot of my bed and stared at me, speechless and wide-eyed while I described the healing I had received.
“I just can’t believe it,” she said. “You were dying when I last saw you.” She picked up my chart and stared at it in disbelief. “And you’re now back on solid food, too.”
All I could do was grin at the bewilderment on her kind face.
Later that afternoon, on her coffee break, Mary crossed the street, entered the fountain of the Walgreen Drug Store and purchased a large chocolate ice cream soda. With a giant-sized smile on her face, Mary Barton then appeared in my room and presented it to me with a great flourish, making good on her promise. “This is one bet I never thought I’d have to pay off,” she said.
What a treat it was! I don’t know who enjoyed it the most: Mary, the grinning gift-bearer, or Betty, the eager recipient.
Several days later John brought me home. It took two trips to carry the accumulation of flowers, plants, gifts, and personal items. I was still so frail and weak that I could only take a few steps at a time. But what a thrill for John and me to be back in our own home, to lie again together in our bed, to sit across the breakfast table, to hold hands on the living room couch as we watched television, to see Brenda dashing about the house with her dolls and toys, telling friends excitedly, “Mommy’s home! Mommy’s home!”
What a difference I felt now about my home. Gone was the restlessness, the desire to escape to Florida. Instead, there was a steady continuous feeling of praise. In the hospital the Lord had first helped me see myself and my sinful nature and then through His Word He had shown me what correction was needed. How wonderful to have this personal relationship with Hi
m. How incredible to encounter Jesus personally in His world and to stand in His light and feel the marvelous flow of His health pass through my body!
I began each day with Him, absorbing more of His Word, seeking His Presence with a joyful sound on my lips. One morning as I was to start a recuperative program, there came a clear message on the mirror of my mind: You shall be like a tree planted by the water.
Quickly I reached for my Bible and turned to the First Psalm, which is a tribute to the righteous man. There it was—third verse:
And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water,
that bringeth forth his fruit in his season;
his leaf also shall not wither;
and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.
(KJV)
The more I meditated on this, the more I felt that the Lord would have me key on the word “water,” that He was advising me to drink six to eight glasses a day to continue the flushing out of impurities in my system. My skin, my tissue, all my organs were crying for moisture. It is a procedure I have followed to this day, resulting in a long period of good health, no colds, clear skin. Thank You, Lord! (A man who heard me tell about this in a speech wrote me recently that he had been unable to wear contact lenses until he began drinking six to eight glasses of water per day. Results: more moisture in his eyes and the irritation gone.)
During the months that followed, I slowly built up my body, regained lost weight and watched carefully for problems that Dr. Bherne indicated I might have. There were no aftereffects to the pain-killing drugs. My body functions were normal. My eyesight seemed unimpaired.
Some years later I went to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles to renew my drivers’ license. I read the charts quickly and easily. The testing officer then asked me to remove my contact lenses and read the fine print on the lower line again. He could not understand the jubilation of my reply when I said, “I’ll reread the lower line, but I don’t wear contact lenses.”