Behind the song: "WATER, WATER EVERYWHERE"

She was ninety-nine years and ten months old and in her last days on earth. The determination and straining to reach the venerable age of one hundred were over. Life was ebbing quickly. My mother-in-law had lived a good life. Married to a butcher, she had worked in their small shop every day and raised three exceptional daughters, all of whom had graduated from university and gone on to have exemplary careers and later families of their own. Everyone who knew her loved “Georgie.” Now confined to bed in a wonderful nursing home, she slipped in and out of lucidity, her body and mind simply wasting away. Keeping her comfortable and accompanied were the foremost causes of family, friends, care-givers and physicians. During her last weeks her daughters, including my wife, grandchildren and other close relatives sought to be at her bedside on a continuing basis. Her final earthly home became ours in those days as well. Over those last hours and days a fascinating ritual developed. Georgie would be lying peacefully, seemingly in some degree of comatose state. Then she would start to speak in a little more than a moan. The words were always the same. “Water, water, water,” she would repeat. “Water, water,” the volume would increase until whoever was in the room at the time would spring to her side with a cup of water and place it to her lips so she could sip the cool wetness. This ritual went on for days, all day, every day, all night, every night. As her strength waned she became unable to even sip from the cup. Eventually the nurses gave us a syringe, minus the needle. When the “water” call came we would suck water from the cup into the syringe and squirt it gently into Georgie’s mouth. Once satisfied, she would return to “sleep” and the vigil would continue. One day, just before the end, my wife and I had finished our day long stint at the nursing home and were driving home. I can still remember it like it was yesterday. It was as if an audible switch had turned on a light bulb in my brain. “I just had a thought,” I exclaimed. I wonder if Mom isn’t so much wanting a sip of water when she cries out like that. “I wonder if she sees herself standing at ‘The River’ wanting to cross to ‘the other side’ but she can’t get there.” We agreed that this could be a possibility. The next day, we returned to Georgie’s bedside and waited to see if she would call out once again, “Water, water.” Soon the call came. This time, rather than spring to give her some, I went to her, bent low and close and said, “Mom, it’s John. Can you hear me?” She nodded, “Yes.” “Mom,” I said, “What do you see? Do you see water, like a river, that you’d like to cross, but you can’t?” “Yes,” she whispered. “I know someone who can take you across. Jesus has been there many times. When He comes for you don’t hesitate. Just trust Him. He will take you home to the other side.” I then prayed a short prayer in her ear, asking the Lord to be gracious to her and gently take her home with Him. I returned to my chair beside the bed and our wait began again. Suddenly, Georgie began to utter a sentence that we had never heard her say before. In her weakened voice, she began to repeat over and over again, “I love the Lord. I love the Lord. I love the Lord.” This stunned us but we rejoiced in her response. Less than two days later, Georgie crossed the “water” and entered her eternal home.