For todays Scattered thougthts I was thinking I’d like to talk about death. Random I know…
In light of the recent series we went through at church, I am challeneged to think about the way I live my life and ultimately what death looks like for me. In the shallowest parts of me I contend that I have no real fear of death. Not to say I know exactly what is going to happen the minute I die. But I do know that I made a choice 7 years ago to choose life. To know and be known.
But my contention is not there. It is in my deepest of depths. The wrestling of thoughts, ideals, and ultimate satisfaction. There is a lot of junk down there. Which I suppose brings me to my thoughts on death. Simply, I’m really not okay with death. Perhaps it is that I always parallel it with pain. You don’t really ever hear about the people who went peacefully into the night. Another part of the puzzle is that there still so much I want to do/accomplish/experience. To have limited control on my life is a crazy thought. I can take care of myself; eat right, exercise, be disciplined. (Which I need to do anyway) But there is always some danger lurking.
This weekend message was a little difficult to follow. But at the end, a simple demonstration was asked. Too go lay your hands on a coffin and look at where you will someday lie. A little odd to me at first but when I saw an elderly couple walk up there, thats when it hit me. It rocked me to my core. That look of inevitability on their face I will never forget. In that moment I reminded what Isaiah said:
Isaiah 40:6-8
A voice says, “Cry out.” And I said, “What shall I cry?” “All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers and the flowers fall, because the breath of the LORD blows on them. Surely the people are grass. The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God stands forever.”
Then this morning I read:
1 John 2:17
“The world and its desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever.”
Still got a lot of shaping to do around these thoughts.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
and things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art; to dust returnest,
