“LORD, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered—how fleeting my life is.” Psalm 39:4
Dear Jesus, I’m still remember my friend’s words, spoken with such peace. “Scotty, it looks like I might be in heaven within three months.” Three months grew to six before his last breath gave way to his first day in heaven.
His memorial service wasn’t shaped by awkward spin, sentimental falderal, or silly analogies of playing the “big golf-course in the sky,” or finally catching the “big fish that kept getting away.” Thankfully, it was shaped by the Gospel (like his life), and honesty about death.
Death wasn’t meant to be. It’s ugly, hard, and elicits appropriate tears and hurt—just like your response to Lazarus’ death. But, hallelujah, Jesus, your death was the death of death, and your resurrection is the guarantee of ours. Because the Gospel is true, we don’t have to be afraid to die… or live.
Since the memorial service, I’ve been pondering a few things and making a few heart-adjustments. If I was certain I only had 3-6 months to live, what deserves more and less of my heart and time?
What resentments, grudges, and hurts I’ve given the power of “8” (on a “1-to-10” scale), need to be dialed down to a “5”—then pretty quickly to a 3, or zero? What on the “back burner” should have front burner status? What things should be in order than aren’t? What’s on my “bucket list”—more so, who is on my “to love” list?
Jesus, if I (we) have 3 months, 7 years, or 2 decades remaining, make this our core conviction:: “The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself in love” (Gal. 5:6). Love from you and for you, extended to everybody else. So Very Amen.
