These are them. The fleeting moments that separate heaven and earth. The place where the pain of this world meets the glory of eternity above. The place of finally being Home.

This is the sacred place of the in between.

“Does it hurt?” I turned around from the IV pole I was adjusting and looked down into his big brown eyes.

Bending down and brushing back his sweaty hair under his dirty ball cap, I gently said, “No baby, it doesn’t hurt. We gave him some medicine and all he is feeling right now is just a peaceful sleep.”

He turned and looked at his Dad, then back at me. “I had the winning hit at my game today. I wish he could have been there. But I did it for him; I won the game for my dad,” his little voice shook as he tried to hold back the tears, his mama, holding his younger sister on the other side of the bed.

“You know what *Tyler*, I think you should tell him that. He knows you’re here, he loves to hear your voice. Tell him all about your game.” And then that little boy leaned over and told his daddy all about his baseball game and the winning hit. I looked over at his mama; we both knew his time was short.

This is the sacred place of the in between.

The place where breaths are shallow and slow, and the spirit is worn and weary. When the fight has been fought and the race almost finished. The place where they lay and wait for their name to be called.

A middle-aged man came running down the hall, still in his suit from the office. He was out of breath and didn’t know what to expect as he rounded the door. “Is he still here?” I nodded and led him back behind the curtain, the rest of his family was waiting for him. He looked at me with tears in his eyes, “I had to be here, you know. I had to tell him I love him, just one last time.” He walked over to the bed and sat down on it. His calm and confident voice broke through the silence, “I’m here Daddy. I’m here and I love you.” Ten minutes later, his dad took his last breath.

This is the sacred place of the in between. 

The place hair is stroked and hands gently held. Hands that have rocked babies and hugged grown children, that have served lemonade on a hot day and played checkers on a cold winter night. Hands that have held fishing poles and played silly tricks on little grandkids. Hands held for the very last time.

There they stood. Three grown men, the size of football players. They all looked identical, those three; and they looked just like the man lying in the bed. Each of them with their mammoth-sized hands on one another’s shoulders, wiping the tears from their eyes, their mama on the other side of the bed holding their daddy’s hand. Soft rounds of, “I love you, Dad,” and “You’re my hero, Dad,” came from around the bed. “He really was the best dad, wasn’t He?” Their mama smiled and she stroked his hands and looked at his giant mini-me’s.

This is the sacred place of the in between.

The place where hymns are sung and memories linger on like their presence in the room. Laughs come through tears, and silent sobs replace the words we try to say. But we can’t find the words, can we. Because how do you fit a life’s worth of memories into a few sentences?

She sat in a chair in the corner, away from her other sisters and her Dad in the bed. I walked over and sat down next to her, my hand quietly found hers. “It isn’t fair. He isn’t going to be here to walk me down the isle at my wedding. He won’t ever meet my kids. He’s never even going to know if I’ll have kids,” she wailed and fell into my arms.

This is the sacred place of the in between.

The place where heaven meets earth, the moments we wait for and dread all at once. The minutes we want to pass quickly, yet hang onto for dear life. Where grown women climb into the hospital bed and lay next to little old men, just so that they can sit on their Dad’s lap one last time. Where grown men call them “Daddy,” instead of “Dad” and talk about all those summers they went fishing. Where Superheroes lose their strength, but not their power.

This is the when the sacred place of the in between becomes the place of the most holy. The moment they see Jesus and it takes their breath away.

This Father’s Day, don’t wait for the sacred place of the in between to come to be able to tell your dad how much you love him and just how much he means to you. The day you have today with your dad is a gift. Pick up the phone. Drive across town. Meet up for lunch. Facetime with the grandkids. Make these moments with your dad count -today and everyday.