From one of the year’s best books, here’s an excerpt from N. D. Wilson’s Death by Living that gives me goosebumps:

The God who looked on you with joy when you were small and racing across His gift of green grass on His gift of feet beneath His gift of sky watched by His gift of a mother with His gift of love in His gift of her eyes, is the same God who will look on you as that race finally ends. He is the same, but we have changed, between our opening lines and our final page.

We cannot see every moment of our own stories, let alone any other mortal story. None of us even have firsthand knowledge of our own early years of existence—what we think we know is all taken on faith.

But God has been there every second. He has crafted every step and gesture and breath of every mortal you have ever passed, of every driver on every road that has ever flicked by you at night, of every kicking child in every mall. And He will be there when we end.

When our time comes, God will be as kind and as generous and as raucous and as deft as He ever and always is.

We are mortals. We are seeds grown and hardened for planting, intended for the ground, and for a glorious Easter harvest after. The first Reaper is a foe, rending soul from flesh, and oh, how we run from him, how we stop our breathing and cower behind locked doors in our mortal darkness. But when our Brother takes up the scythe, there will be drums and sun and sweat mixed with laughter. Then we will beg not to be Passed Over.