Recently, a friend of mine – a lady who, along with her husband, had a very pastoral role in the life of myself & my wife – passed away. She has a great story, one which included a tragic accident of falling down her home stairs in 2001, on the brink of death. In the end, she was left paralyzed, continuing on for another 13 years.
Her story is captured in the book, Falling Into His Grace.
However, just over a week ago, it was her time to rest in God, to fall asleep only to awake in the embrace of our Father.
We call it death.
It’s an interesting concept I know very little about. But these life stories make us think about it a little more.
In one sense, death becomes our companion in so many ways. We are made of dust and will return to dust.
Yet, one day, death will lose it’s final sting. In many ways, it already has when God’s Son walked out of the grave. One prophetic poet said:
Where, O death, are your plagues?
Where, O grave, is your destruction?
The Greek version attests this:
“Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?”
Today, our friend’s husband sent out an email that arrived with these poetic words about death. I leave them to ponder:
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die. ~John Donne