March 25, 2012
7:00 p.m.
As I write these words….
To the year,
To the month,
To the day,
Even to the hour,
I am the very age my father was when he died.
55 years, 26 days, cerebral hemorrhage at 6:30 p.m., pronounced dead at 9:15 p.m.
I hesitate to say anything.
This moment feels very sacred to me.
But these things I know and want to share.
Life is a miracle and a mystery. I can’t begin to fathom why one person lives
to be one hundred and another person lives half as long. But I can see that the most important issue
about your life and mine is not how long we live, but how much we live. The abundant life that Jesus offers has
nothing to do with life span and everything to do with making the most of
God-given opportunities to be alive:
To speak a kind word
To stand up for what is right
To break the cycle of revenge and retaliation
To pray
To care about someone enough to cry over them
To pick yourself up from where you’ve fallen and try again
To forgive
To apologize
To be a friend who loves at all times
To share what you have
To love enough to be tough
To name the beautiful things you see in people and in
creation
To say “I believe”
To begin again.
If my life ended today, at 55 years and 26 days, as did my
father’s,
How much
have I lived?
RDV
