Undoubtedly we have all attended funerals where everyone, dressed in black, stood around crying copious tears, lamenting the passing of a loved one. Losing a loved one is very difficult, but what if we instead got down on our knees and thanked God for the privilege of knowing the person and for the time we shared? I have always wondered why we look at death as such a melancholy event, a taboo subject. We even avoid talking about it with our children.
God does not feel this way. He inspired Solomon to state, “The day of death [is better] than the day of one’s birth” (Ecclesiastes 7:1). We are told to observe the day of Jesus’ death, to remember His sacrifice and life as we get together on Passover. And, even though it is a sobering time, it is also a time for rejoicing: “...Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him...” (1 Corinthians 2:9-12).

So imagine receiving the letter below:

“To my darling husband and beloved sons and daughters,

“If you are reading this, I have died and my ashes are in the urn next to my brother’s and mother’s ashes, already hidden on the shelf in the back bedroom. Oh, don’t tear up now and ruin the ink on this beautiful paper I purchased especially for this purpose. You’ll have to save this and read it whenever you miss me. Of course I want you to miss me, but I want you to rejoice in my life too—remember the good things of our life together. I know there were difficult times too, but they helped us to learn and grow. And why can’t we talk of dying? It is part of the journey we are all on. What we all have to remember is that after a while the trip gets long and tiring, tedious even, and it’s time to get off and rest awhile.

“I’ve had much time for reflection the past months as my body slowed down against my will. As you know I’ve always been an active, busy sort of person, so it has been a little difficult to have Papa wait on me, sit in this rocking chair, something I said I’d never do. But these old bones! I’ve always wondered why people mourn and grieve at one’s passing. Why not rejoice? Celebrate one’s life! Rejoice in the time spent together on the journey. Of course, for Papa and me it’s been well over a half a century. I thought I’d outlast him, but he’s a stubborn old soul, determined to stay on this earth longer than me. (Actually, I think he stuck around to look after me, bless him.) he letter below:
“But we’ve had many good years together. Remember when we wanted to sell everything and go around the world, but settled for a biking trip to Europe when you all thought we were crazy. What a blast! Oh, we’ve had our disagreements, as you are all aware, but who hasn’t? We made up and carried on together. Isn’t that what life is all about... building godly character? I’m sure he’s built lots with me too. God has given me my ‘three score and ten’ and a few more years to boot. I cannot ask for more. Besides, I am just asleep, waiting to hear my name and then I’ll see you all again. It’s something I look forward to with great anticipation. A new body, a new world!

“It seems just like yesterday when each of you were placed into my arms. Papa and I counted your tiny fingers, and I gloried in your silky newness, your exquisite perfection. And we had done this—created you—with just a little help from above! We experienced only a few scary moments. One time was when your Papa left the hospital and the nurse came and told me you were in difficulty just hours after your birth. ‘How can that be?’ You were a big baby, the largest one of all. I remember finding my way to the nursery in a daze and seeing you lying there in an incubator of all places. Your color was not good. They said it was because of your size and coming into the world too quickly to adjust well. I rushed to phone for anointing and prayed you would be all right. God answered my prayer.

“Then there was the time when Papa and I were having a fine meal in a restaurant when I was three months pregnant. All of a sudden I knew something was wrong. We tried to rush out of the place, but the manager stopped us, demanding payment, even though he could see the blood on my dress and Papa wanting to take me to the emergency room. The doctors held little hope of your surviving in the womb. But you did! We asked for anointing and God saw you were special. I had to take it easy for a couple of months, but when I saw you I knew you were worth every minute.

“I remember times when one of you had croup, or tonsillitis, or one of many childhood diseases. We’d stay up all night, a hot little body resting against my chest, praying over you, putting an anointing cloth on your forehead. Believe it or not those were special times. I felt needed, loved. Papa did too. I guess its one of our many foibles, needing to be needed.

I can’t help chuckling remembering when God first called our family and we invited a young couple for dinner on only our second Sabbath attending. Papa and I were young in the faith back then, and had so much to learn. You little ones sat like tender plants around the dinner table that evening with beaming faces. God held back my tongue from asking my guests about the pork question (why I had to know right then I don’t know—especially when there were little pieces of pork bacon hiding in the cabbage rolls) until after dinner. I can just imagine God having a chuckle too. I laugh now, too, about how I cried on the way home from Church the following Sabbath because Papa had asked over the minister and his wife and four children. I didn’t think I was up to the task—a dozen people around the dinner table, how would I manage that?

“We went to every Bible study, talent show, winter campout, sports events, potluck and Spokesman’s Club (Papa making us listen to his attempts at public speaking). And year after year we traveled to every Feast, rejoicing before God, some of you tucked into blankets at our feet. And, as our family grew, you trailed in a longer and longer line behind us carrying briefcases, blankets, coloring books and goodies. Wasn’t it a blast?

“We waved good-bye as you went off to Y.O.U. summer camp. You were delighted in your grown-up-ness. We wondered if you could manage without us.

“Our family never missed a thing. Don’t you remember those camping trips with fondness and delight? The new kids you’d meet in different Church areas. You tried to get the flames going from your pile of sticks, the wee sparks drifting lazily into the night sky. You burned wieners on sticks you’d carved to perfection. You explored the flora and fauna in your bare feet along the ocean shores, bringing us the treasures you found. Even when we had to spend time in the Laundromat drying out sleeping bags because of rain, it was an adventure. Remember the time at the Church campout, when a young lady put her arms around your big brother, thinking he was her fiancé. How she blushed bright pink when she discovered her mistake!

“All these memories have made it all worthwhile. Your first steps, your first day of school and suddenly graduation, leaving home, getting your first jobs, meeting the one of your dreams, weddings, cakes, flowers, photos, babies, our grandchildren. Exciting, thrilling—then Papa and I alone! Where has the time gone? But we were always busy and our life was filled with such busy and beautiful memories.
“And what of me as a woman, a child of God? Has God been pleased with me? I can only hope that He has. A woman friend of mine wrote me the following letter many years ago now and the words, although faded, have encouraged me as I walk this path. Not many people come out and tell you you’re an all right person, so I kept her letter and in times of discouragement I have read her kind words:

“ ‘I can remember as yesterday sitting at Mom’s bedside as her scribe and responding to your letters of comfort. You were one of two pen pals who were constant in caring for her in her time of need. It was this love you had for my mother in her distress and the wisdom you spoke through the written word that initially drew me to you as a woman of valor. You were the “woman who stretched her hand to the needy... and in her tongue was the law of kindness.” After mom’s death, you were the only woman who was there for me, listening and supporting me. I still remember our long bike ride together and your comforting presence. You were so unlike the others who callously told me to “stop crying” or who met my grief with flat platitudes. You seemed to really care and empathize with my pain. You were a woman who had the courage to develop your talents and grow in knowledge and still maintain a balanced scriptural approach to life based in a love of God’s Word. I looked up to you as a role model. Your example inspired me to think that I, too, could survive in the academic world and meet the intellectual challenges of struggling to be a little light in a dark world. I rejoiced to have a friend whose vision of godly womanhood was positive and expansive, not rigid and demeaning.’ ”

“Sitting here in my rocking chair the light from the sun warming me, what more could I ask for... a long, busy and productive life... having the rare privilege of being called by God and given His magnificent truth... the opportunity to be a little light in a dark world. I am eternally grateful for all He has given to me and to each of you and for being a part of something that is bigger than we are... and for brethren whom we have loved and who have loved us.

“We’ve had a lot of time to commune together—God and I—and we have come to an understanding. I have been comforted by His words in the 23rd Psalm. ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.’

“And, besides, this dying is a momentous event that is way up there with getting married, graduating, giving birth and being baptized. I want you to know I have looked on dying just as I did on living—giving it my all—with as much courage and dignity and energy as I could muster. I admit God put me to the test, but never gave me more than I could handle. I could feel His presence more and more as the time drew near, and His hand was always in mine. I look forward to it with joy, this short sleep, this time of rest. I’ve earned it. I have fought the good fight and a crown of glory waits for me. I am waiting to hear His words: ‘This is my beloved daughter in whom I am well pleased.’

“With all of my love—see you all very soon.”