Death: Awkward, but Inevitable

Life has a 100% mortality rate.  Yet, I was struck today by how awkward dying is.  It is both natural and unnatural all at the same time.  If we die of "natural causes," we don't get to choose how it happens.  We don't get to choose when or where it happens.  And we don't get to choose what we're doing or whom we are with when it happens.  Regular exercise and a high-fiber diet may help us to feel healthier longer, but it doesn't guarantee that we won't keel over or suffer a life-ending tragedy without a moment's notice.

However, as stark and universally accepted as that reality may be, we spend countless dollars and endless hours trying to fight it.  We do our best to look younger than we are, as if hiding our age from others reduces our chance of dying or inherently makes us more vibrant.  Women have a tendency to repeat their 29th birthdays... over and over again... until it becomes a running joke.  What are we hiding from?  Why does it scare us so much to get old?

It's probably because most people are terrified by the thought of going from this life into the next.  Some say that we are each spiritless collections of random molecules, the products of time and chance.  If that were so, then there would be nothing to fear in death.  Emotions would be irrelevant and sympathy misplaced.  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust... is that it?  Do we just cease to exist when we die?  I don't think so, and neither did Dad.

Dad took John 3:16 to heart... "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son [Jesus], that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."  He was banking on the truth of this verse and eagerly awaited the "eternal life" promised for those who believe in Jesus.  If Dad could communicate, I'm sure he would tell us how much he loved us, but also how excited he is at the prospect of "moving on."  Dad never bothered with pretense about how old he was or looked.  He did not obsess with preventing death; instead, he lived life preparing for it.

Dad's AVM was no cosmic accident; nor was its recent popping.  It was a congenital condition, meaning that he was born with it; only God knew it existed until this past week.  Dad could very easily have died 25 years ago, but God kept him from leaving a widowed homemaker with four children under the age of eight.  God had other plans, and for that I am very thankful.

The verse most on my heart today has been Psalm 139:13-16... it is a beautiful song about how delicately we are created by God, who is sovereign and does all things well:

   For you created my inmost being; 

       you knit me together in my mother's womb.

   I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

       your works are wonderful,

       I know that full well.

   My frame was not hidden from you

       when I was made in the secret place.

   When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,

       your eyes saw my unformed body.

   All the days ordained for me

       were written in your book

       before one of them came to be.

Dad is not the product of time and chance, nor are any of us.  His days were ordained by God before they began... as are mine and yours.  What counts is what we do with the days we are given.  Jesus said the two greatest commands are 1) to love God with everything we've got and 2) to love others as ourselves.  That's what Dad was about.

In that spirit, because Dad loved so many of you, we are welcoming visitors who want to see him.  We will do this until Grace gets here*, because Dad touched so many lives.  Call or e-mail if you want to swing by for a short visit (Mercy General, Surgical ICU, Room 369), and we'll figure out a good time.  Many have already come and said goodbye.  In many ways, it feels like an open casket funeral, with family, friends, and Dad's dear colleagues streaming in to "show their respects."  Dad is still here, but he is poised for the everlasting.  May we all be so well prepared.

* Grace's flight off the ice has been delayed again due to the icy and snowy conditions.  The plane is now scheduled to leave tomorrow from Antarctica, but conditions there are difficult to predict.