Lumina News lost one of its Good News page columnists, Pastor Buddy Dawson, two weeks ago. Dawson was not only our Signs & Wonders columnist, he was my friend, a source of continual prayer covering, mentor, teacher, a worship leader, a loving husband to my friend, and pastor to me.
In the hospital in January he described me to a curious nurse as “like” one of his spiritual children. I glowed then and again now as I think of it.
At the celebration of his life on Sunday night, I struggled with words to convey who he was to me.
My intentions were to describe moments witnessed at the hospital, especially as I would arrive there in the mornings. Having volunteered to take the 7 a.m. breakfast shifts with him before going on to work late, I was usually present as the nurses and aides would be coming on and going off their shifts.
Despite being in great pain, Buddy was never cross. In fact he was the opposite. The second morning of his stay, a new nurse came on duty who is best described as business like, no smile, just there to do what was required and get on to the next patient. As she was administering meds into his IV, he looked up at her and despite a head rush from the drugs coming too fast, he asked her gently, “Are you having a good day?” Startled, she answered, “Not really.”
Returning that night, as this same nurse left her shift, I witnessed her totally changed as she came in the door softly, saying, “I am going now, have a good night, I love you.” I smiled, knowingly. Time spent with Buddy Dawson was a valuable investment, even when he was laid flat out in a hospital bed on morphine; everyone saw the love in his eyes, in his words. It drew them to the Jesus in him. It changed them.
The oncology doctor who had arrived day one in battle mode, ready to attack this evil in Buddy’s body, was also all business, no emotion on display. His only question that day was, “How aggressively do you want to proceed?” Buddy responded, “Aggressively.” Over the ensuing days, as it became apparent even the great skills of this doctor, and the team of oncology docs he consulted with, would not be put to use, this doctor seemed to deflate. Buddy remained steadfast.
There was one particularly rough night during which the doctor had arrived just as two less-experienced aides were repositioning Buddy and causing him a great deal of unnecessary pain. Buddy said the doctor instantly intervened, sending the aides scurrying from the room, resettling him himself.
The next time I saw this doctor, he came in the door just as three of us finished praying. His countenance was so softened, so changed, for a moment I didn’t recognize him. This morning, his questions began with, “How is your pain level?” Buddy replied, “I can’t complain.” The doctor’s next question, “How was your night?” was met only with, “I could complain.”
Insensitive handling was very rare; by far the care and comfort he received was exemplary. Nurses and aides found excuses to be in Buddy’s room, because his genuine love and concern for them, over himself, was obvious. You could see he was about his Father’s business even then. Day and night, he ministered to them. As shifts ended or began, they would pop in for a “good morning” or “I am going now.” (They don’t say goodbye on the tenth floor.) He’d call each by name and softly say to them, “I love you.”
My kaleidoscope of memories from those ten days is a treasure trove. As weird as it may sound, our breakfasts together were wonderful.
Even during his subsequent six weeks or so under home Hospice care, every story he shared conveyed how he continued to minister to everyone he came in contact with.
And what they saw was love.
A teacher/preacher I watch on YouTube, Dan Mohler, frequently says when you squeeze an orange, you shouldn’t get apple juice. You should get orange juice when you squeeze an orange. If you saw apple juice come from an orange it would be odd. Equally, Mohler says, when a Christian is squeezed, very often what others see come from us is not Christian at all. A long wait in a store checkout line, a delayed flight in an airport, a car accident — what do people see when we are squeezed?
Buddy Dawson was the real deal; no, not perfect, but when squeezed by unbearable pain and physical circumstances, I witnessed that orange give orange juice time and again.
And oh, when he prayed for you. I remember asking for healing prayer after holding back flu-like symptoms. I had fought the good fight, but my running nose, swollen eyes, sneezing, coughing and stopped-up head were about to get the best of me. He said come and we’ll pray. I looked such a sight with my very red nose, they poked loving fun at me after they prayed. I will never forget as I drove about three blocks away in my car, all my symptoms had vanished, 100 percent of them, all gone. I had no swelling, no red nose, no congestion — I felt like a million bucks. For me, this miracle was a game changer, life has never been the same, it is pregnant with possibilities.
Buddy Dawson demonstrated the truth that Jesus still heals on the Earth today, and he uses ordinary people who believe in Him to do it through.
Day by day as I continue to refocus my thoughts on things above, things eternal and not my temporal feelings of missing my friend, there is peace and joy in knowing that when he left this Earth, he went home to be with his heavenly Father, to his Savior, to his Best Friend.
What a legacy Buddy Dawson leaves behind for us in the example of his life, his teachings and worship services recorded live on CDs and in his written words.
