Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom. [Psalm 90:12 (NLT)]
Death never takes the wise man by surprise; He is always ready to go. [Jean de La Fontaine]
Several years ago, two friends joined the ranks of widowhood within a week of one another. Because her husband surrendered to cancer several months earlier by stopping all treatment, one woman was not surprised when she joined the club. The other woman, however, went to bed a wife and awoke the next morning to find herself a widow. Despite his looking the picture of health, her husband, having suffered a fatal stroke while she slept, lay dead on the kitchen floor.
Although Ira Byock is a palliative care physician and a leading advocate for improving end of life care, his book The Four Things That Matter Most is as much about living well as it is about dying. The four things referenced in the book’s title are four simple phrases: Please forgive me. I forgive you. Thank you. I love you. While we may think we’re simply restating what should be evident to those around us, we must never underestimate the power of those words.
We’d like to picture a peaceful ending with family gathered around our bedside and the opportunity to say and hear whatever needs to be said or heard, but that’s probably not the way our last act of life will be staged. Even though I knew my mother’s cancer would defeat her, when I walked out of her hospital room that afternoon, I never suspected that she’d be in a coffin when next I saw her! When I said farewell to my father after a holiday visit, I never expected that, while pheasant hunting in a cornfield, he’d die of a massive heart attack less than three weeks later. My father-in-law was airlifted to a trauma center and died there before any of us even knew he’d been in a car accident. Neither life nor death go according to plan!
In their last moments, did either of those husbands regret having left something unspoken? When their caskets were closed, did their family members weep because of words they’d left unsaid? Because they had warning, I’d like to think the first man and his family expressed their forgiveness, thanks, and love. As for the second husband—while gasping his last breath, did he wish he’d said “I love you!” before his wife went to bed? Do his children regret not apologizing for something or failing to express their love and appreciation for all he did? Does his wife wish she’d told him how much she loved him before going upstairs that night? Does she regret their previous day’s spat or wish she’d thanked him for his incredible patience?
Why should we wait until the curtain is closing before saying the important things? Any forgiveness to request or extend, any thanks to offer, and any words of love to share should not wait for the final act. We may not even know the play is closing, the people to whom we want to speak may not be present, or conversation may not be possible.
Please forgive me. I forgive you. Thank you. I love you. While it may be stating the obvious when we utter those words, being obvious doesn’t mean they don’t need to be said or heard. They’re all things that shouldn’t wait to be expressed until we or the people we love are at death’s door. If Lazarus or his sisters left anything unsaid the first time he died, I imagine they didn’t after his resurrection. Unlike Lazarus, however, we don’t get a second chance at dying and, unlike Martha and Mary, we don’t get a second opportunity to say farewell to our loved ones.
Please forgive me. I forgive you. Thank you. I love you. We don’t know when the curtain will close. Is there anyone to whom we should say those words before it does?
Everyone knows they’re going to die, but nobody believes it…If we did, we would do things differently. … Forgive yourself before you die, then forgive others. [Morrie Schwartz in “Tuesdays with Morrie” by Mitch Albom]
After feeding a multitude with little more than a handful of food, Jesus sent the disciples across the Sea of Galilee to Bethsaida. He stayed behind to send the people home and then, exhausted, went into the mountains to pray. During the fourth watch (somewhere between 3:00 and 6:00 AM), Jesus looked out at the water and saw that the disciples were struggling against the wind and waves to keep the boat on course. Seeing their distress, he walked on the water toward them. Seeing Him walking on water, they thought Him a ghost and cried out in terror. Phantoms of the night were said to bring disaster and it was thought that the last thing a boatman saw before drowning in Galilee was a ghost on the water! It’s no wonder they were frightened at first.
We enjoy walking in the local Botanical Garden as well as the nearby Corkscrew Swamp. Although both offer plenty of photo ops and pleasant strolls in God’s creation, the Garden offers more color and variety than a swamp any day. Nevertheless, as much as I enjoy the Garden’s beauty and serenity, I feel more at home in the swamp.
What would you do if you were six and your father said that your mom is in the hospital because she finds it hard to be happy and “did something stupid”? That question is answered in Duncan Macmillan and Jonny Donahoe’s one-act play, Every Brilliant Thing. In their play, that boy, now a grown man, tells the audience that he made of list of everything that was “brilliant” about the world—everything worth living for—and left it on his mother’s pillow. Reflecting a six-year old’s priorities, the list included ice cream, Kung-Fu movies, laughing so hard you shoot milk out your nose, burning things, construction cranes, and “me.” Although she returns the list with its spelling corrected, the boy’s mother never comments on it. Nevertheless, he keeps adding to his list. Although his mother eventually takes her life, the narrator tells how his list took on a life of its own and eventually saved him from his own depression and suicidal thoughts.
During that dark time about which I recently wrote, I was in intense pain and it seemed like God had turned His back on me. When I confided to a friend that God seemed deaf to my pleas, she asked the simple question, “Have you turned it over to the Lord?” I assured her I had but, as the day wore on, I wondered if that were true.
When I first started reading the psalms, I suspected David might have been bi-polar—his highs seemed so high and his lows so very low; now I understand that he was just being truthful. In his psalms, David unabashedly expressed his deepest feelings to God. Pouring out his soul, he openly shared his emotions—whether anger, disappointment, sorrow, regret, shame, joy, love, fear, doubt, or even his desire for vengeance upon his enemies. No matter how troubled he was, David never was afraid to speak from his heart. I’m not sure we are willing to be as vulnerable and straightforward in our prayers as was David.
Devotions of the Heart 