I hate death!
A few days ago I conducted my mother-in-law’s funeral. A year ago my father-in-law’s. Twelve years ago my dad’s and 10 months later my mom’s.
I hate the finality. That loved one I’ll no longer enjoy.
Oh, I’m often thankful when their suffering ends. But I hate saying goodbye.
I also hate that it always causes me twinges of doubt about this place we call Heaven.
On a good day I believe. But I’ll tell you when I’m standing beside a grave, looking at a casket, doubt creeps in again.
I hate that.
How dare it intrude in this solemn occasion? How dare it sneak in uninvited and crash this gathering? And how dare it do this when I’m conducting a funeral?
Sometimes I wonder, “God why is it so hard sometimes for me to believe?”
Then I think, “Perhaps it’s hard for a lot of people at times and I need to let others know it’s ok.”
And because when I’m standing by a grave it reminds me this life is incredibly short so don’t waste a minute.
Then I choose to rest again in believing Heaven is for real and I will be with my loved ones there someday.
And that is enough.