But death is the last unknown. I’ve often thought about this subject. Call me morbid, call me weird, but death is a fascinating subject to me.
It’s kind of a paradox. I have found myself shying away from nursing homes, hospitals and funerals over the years, as family and friends approached their demise. It wasn’t right. It’s just a fact.
Maybe I’m more interested in the theory than the reality.
A particular American soldier wrote a prophetic poem during World War I… “I have a rendezvous with death at some disputed barricade, when spring comes back with rustling shade, and apple blossoms fill the air. I shall not fail that rendezvous.”
Job’s wife asked, “If a man die, shall he live again?” (Job 14:14, KJV) Well, we find the answer in the Book of Hebrews, “It is appointed unto man once to die.” (Heb. 9:27, KJV)
Chuck Swindoll tells of walking into his home church one day, ready to assume his duties for the day, when he became aware of solemn music drifting out of the sanctuary. Looking in, he was taken aback. For there before him were numerous bouquets of flowers, a closed casket, and… a large photograph of none other than he, himself on the stage!
He momentarily wondered if someone had forgotten to notify him that he had joined the ranks of “The Dearly Departed,” and he looked at his watch to see if it was still running.
It seems someone on his staff had decided to play the ultimate joke on him.
In his sermon he draws a somber conclusion, “Though I had some conflicting emotions about ‘this little ha ha,’ it reminded me that one day someone else would fill my pulpit, and someone else would use my office.”
How will we be remembered? How long will the echo’s of our lives reverberate? How many will be able to say, “_________ influenced my life like no one ever did,” or “If it weren’t for _______, I don’t know what I’d be doing today.”
Not long after my Uncle’s death my Grandmother awoke to hear footsteps in the house. Of course, she thought someone had broken in on her. But suddenly she felt comforted. For she recognized a familiar gait, the particular shuffle of her (deceased) brother. Now, I don’t know what I believe about ghosts, and that’s not the issue here, but shall we leave a sweet afterglow? Will we leave footprints behind?
The majority of us are given about 25,000 days; some less, some more. Think of it! Life seems so much shorter when measured in days. But you figure it up. That’s about the sum of our lives.
I want my life to count. More than fame, more than riches. More than anything else I want my life to impact the less fortunate, the unlearned, the languishing soul.
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Unconventional Devotions" Copyright 2005
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