A Vague Understanding
I was a serious child, some people would say. I mean, I had a childhood, and I was happy and silly and goofy and all the things that children are. But I had a very serious streak. Maybe it's because my parents were older. Maybe it's because they talked to us about everything (and I mean everything). Maybe that was just the way God made me. I have always been able to be silly about silly things and very serious about very serious things.
I feel one of the reasons I was so serious as a child was I understood from a young age that I wouldn't live forever. It's not that I thought about death a lot. I just realized that it existed, vaguely but unswervingly. I wasn't afraid of it, but I made the connection in my mind that death meant separation from everything I knew.
Grandma Great
I remember when my great grandmother died. She had been old when I met her, but she was so much fun. She was one of the funniest ladies I have ever met. She was so awesome that we didn't call her "Great Grandma," we called her "Grandma Great." I remember sitting in our living room in Houston hearing that Grandma Great had died. I cried. But I also remember sitting down and talking about the fact that she was in heaven because she had believed in Jesus. I remember thinking that she was turning cartwheels and dancing up in heaven now because she couldn't have done it when I knew her on Earth.
It was at that time I think that death became less of a curiosity and more of a reality to me. Not that I thought death would visit me personally any time soon but that it was something I needed to be aware of. After all, God had put me on earth for a reason. He had a certain number of things for me to accomplish before it was my turn to die -- I quote our family's lifelong motto: "To whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much expected."
The Clock Doesn't Stop
God had (and still has) big plans for my life. So I was always very much aware that I had a limited amount of time to finish the things God wanted me to do. So as a result I was always very serious when it came to aspects of ministry in the church. I'm still that way.
Death hit me pretty hard when I was in high school, though. The new youth pastor had just taken over, and I really liked him (thought not many other people did). Then, one of the kids in our high school group was killed in a car wreck. I had known him. I had hung out with him. I was better friends with his sister, but I knew him and had looked up to him and had admired him.
This was one of the incidents that really caused my graduating class (the class of "01) to bond. We were closer than any other graduating class, and we were more involved in the goings-on of the church than any other graduating class. And even today, we"re all still out there working for God, whether in our homes or in our workplaces or even on the mission field in other countries. We're all serious about death, I think, because it touched us in a personal way.
Making the Choice
I made the choice some time ago that I would not be afraid of death. I have nothing to fear from death. When I die, when my body shuts down, my spirit and soul will be free, and the person that I really am will be taken immediately to God's presence. I'll be more alive there than I am now.
What I have trouble being afraid of, though, is dying.
Death and dying aren't the same. Death is instantaneous. It's quick. It's fast. It's painless. You die and then you're home.
Dying is different. It's long, slow, laborious. Exhausting. Painful. Frustrating. I have known many people who died slowly, and it's nothing that I ever wanted to experience. But many of the people I knew who suffered from long-term illnesses all had a sense of peace about them because they believed in their hearts that they were suffering for a reason.
A Season for Every Thing
If such a thing ever happens to me I want to be able to look back on my life and see that it mattered. I want to be able to look back on where I have been and the people I have encountered and see that my life had changed people for the best-that my life had been an encouragement-that my life had meaning-that I had pointed people to Christ. That's all I care about. I struggle with wanting people to think I'm a nice person, and I want people to like me. But the truth should come first. I'm nothing without Jesus. I don't have a life without Jesus. If He hadn't saved me, I'd have no reason to live . . . . or to die . . . . . or to suffer a slow death.
I don't want to be thought of as morbid, but death is something we need to consider. It's one of the paradoxes of life-and indeed one of the greatest paradoxes of the Christian faith-but how we view death is more important than how we view life.
Too many Christians are so caught up in life that they don't think about death. They don't think about the deaths of the people they love.
Even though a Christian has been given eternal life, death should be foremost on his or her mind because it is coming for all of us. And if we are ready to meet it, we don't need to fear it. We should welcome it with open arms. But until that day, we need to live hard, knowing that the clock doesn't stop ticking until we do.
