Priceless

If through our lives we are to bring glory to the One who created us, then does our death serve that same noble purpose? This question gnaws at the corners of my consciousness more and more frequently as people I know or know of depart this life. Some of these people I know well, some just tangentially through family or friends, but all leave me pondering that same question.

This week my friend from childhood, S, lost his brother which also means his mother and father lost their son, a wife her husband, and a child his father. I’d never met S’s brother, but the entire family has always lived out their amazing life of faith, an inspiring life of faith, really. But no matter how deep their faith canyon cuts or how fast their belief rapids run, I still can’t imagine the strength that must be needed to carry them through a situation that feels Salvador-Dali-surreal. I suppose that’s how we know human strength alone has long since fled, and God alone holds them all in His strong, capable arms.

What do you say to a mother who has lost her adult child? Nothing brings comfort, nothing makes it better. Maybe the only right thing to say is, “I love you, and I am so very sorry.” What to say to his brother, the friend of my childhood? Probably the exact same thing. But it doesn’t feel like enough, does it? Would anything ever?

I’ve searched the Bible looking for purpose, and the best I can do is that we are here to serve the purpose God set for us before we were born. We are here to bring Him glory. Perhaps when we’re done with that we get to go Home – Home where we will never know illness, never know pain, never know fear or disappointment or the myriad of other negative things these frail human bodies carry along wherever they traverse. From that vantage point, Home sounds glitteringly glorious. However, I struggle with leaving behind the people who need you – not so much me, as there really isn’t anyone who needs me per se, but for someone who has family – spouse, kids – I just don’t understand.  (And here’s where you tell me I don’t have to understand.)

I’m glad I’m not God and don’t have to make these heart rending decisions that separate families, but I am also ecstatic that I simply know God, the same God that S’s family knows and loves with all their hearts, soul, strength, and mind. Knowing Him, loving Him, trusting Him allows me to trust that the family left behind will be cared for, will not be left adrift regardless of the storms that may be raging inside of them right now. Our Father, our Savior, and the Spirit would never let that happen as God has promised to be a champion of the widow and the fatherless; God literally becomes Abba – Daddy.

This is not my tragedy, but it is my heartache, and please, consider for a second, that it is yours as well. Then, please take a moment and grieve for this family. Why? Because this life cut short could easily be mine or yours. This remnant of a family reminds us that those we love are not possessions to be controlled, and life beyond this simple, solitary second is not promised. Even if you don’t have the life you think you want or wanted, even if the glass stopped short of your imaginary fill line or the shape of the glass changed, you have a life, and have no doubt, it was the life God meant you to have. It might not have been your plan, but it was His; possibly you’re just a little late catching up in the playbook. Be grateful for every precious second, even the ones spent sick or with the in-laws or bathing the dog or anything else a visit to the dentist complete with root canal replaces as sounding good. Each of those seconds are, well, as the credit card commercials say, priceless.