Does not God know the number of the days we have to live? The Bible says that it is so, therefor it is truth. It is a fact that death awaits all of us, one day. Maybe it will come slowly, its approach well announced, and its arrival accepted. Or maybe it will come suddenly, without warning, taking us away and depriving us of any chance of repentance, opportunity, or farewell. Which is better? I suppose it depends on the circumstance, but it is probably safe to say that knowing the end is in close proximity would be desirable for most, if anything at least to use the remaining time to say goodbye.
But it wasn’t the case for him. Recently retired, in love, living a relaxed existence, unloading the toys of his younger days as he consciously unburdened and simplified his life, he was planning the next 15 years of the good life. Current events would have been the fireworks show this 4th of July, the pontoon boat on Labor Day. Future plans might have included a trip to Mount Rushmore, or where he’d watch the 2024 eclipse.
I can picture his last day. While his woman was out of town visiting family he stayed on the homestead, alone and content, piddling around in the garage, smoking cigarettes, drinking beer, and more often than not, mowing the large lawn and taking care of the grounds. He wanted for not much else than this simple existence, he was happy; they were happy.
When concerns were raised I was certain there was an explanation, but when I walked into the garage the next morning I was now certain the concerns were legitimate. Talking to her on the phone I entered the house, but he wasn’t there. I assumed he would have passed inside of a heart attack, and would have preferred it that way. What could have possibly happened out here? Going outside I saw a group of vultures in the yard, but there was noting else there. I told her I’d call her back after I walked around. The vultures held my attention for too long. At first it wasn’t comprehendible, unrecognizable. A double take and denial continued to rebuke reality; it couldn’t be real, maybe a Halloween decoration, but not real. Then the sudden, voluntary deep breath in, audible and familiar. A hand follows to cover the mouth as if to prevent any more of your own soul from escaping your body. Immediately doubts and alternative outcomes try to convince the mind in hopes of changing reality. Maybe it is not him! Maybe I am seeing it wrong. Finally, the two arms, bloated, discolored, and locked in place, sticking up out of the water as if they were reaching for heaven, desperately wanting to be saved, are recognized for what they are. His lawn mower was visible just beneath the water. A glance revealed the delicacies the vultures had preferred. Far from a scene of salvation, more like a scene from the pit of hell.
The journey from incomprehension to acceptance took seconds to complete. My friend, a man whom I’ve known for four years, was dead. The eyes that I had looked into, the eyes that revealed the kindness and simplicity that defined him were no more. The personality I interacted with had been extinguished. The easy-going neighbor, who liked to drink beer and show his love for us by mowing his yard, my yard, and the roadside up and down the lane, was gone. The voice that spoke no harsh words, nor revealed any pride or envy or bitterness, had been unexpectedly silenced forever. The work he enjoyed had ceased.
Taking no more steps closer, not wanting to carry the weight of any more detail on my shoulders, I turned and walked away from the pond. Mumbling what, I don’t remember, I hit my knees when I’d felt I had gotten far enough away and cried for my friend and the tragic end to his young life, and for the loss of those closest to him. In the hours that would follow, which blended into days, I would come back to that scene in the pond. I contemplated the burden of discovering that a living soul had ceased to be, being, at least for a short while, the only person who knew what his fate was. Being the person who would start the chain of events that would ultimately inform his family and friends of his tragic death. I wondered what kind of spiritual impact it had in the unseen. I contemplated on his final moments, wondering if he went straight under, pinned beneath the mower 30 seconds before he succumbed to the water’s superiority, or if he was able to get his head out, just high enough to take a breath. How long did he struggle in that posture before he was unable to fight any longer? I am so sorry, my friend. What a simple mistake, to simple to cause such calamity and pain. To perfect to result in this most tragic and permanent outcome. How viable it is that you would have stood and climbed out of that pond, losing only a lawn mower and a few breaths.
I wonder, now that you are gone, if you carried the Holy Spirit in your heart, if you knew how to give your life to Jesus Christ. We never talked about that. We only talked about projects we were working on, what we did over the weekend, simple and non-threatening, friendly and easy-going. Sometimes I was too busy, or in too much of a hurry to talk at all. I admit, sometimes I’d cut the conversation short, severing the little time we had, because I had something more pressing to do and I didn’t want to “waste” the time. I’m so sorry, my friend.
I gave you a copy of my CD, and now I realize my passive method of witnessing does not show up to the table when it really counts. It is a coward’s approach. How many others have I cheated by handing off a CD of unfamiliar songs, amateurly recorded, expecting that to lead them onto a path of considering the Gospel of Jesus Christ? Why don’t I use the giving as the start of the conversation, an opening for the deeper question? Now all I can do is hope. Hope that you knew Jesus and hope that I’ll see you again in the glories of heaven.
And, it feels most of the time, all I can do for the masses of people who are out there, living apart from God, largely in response to the influence of the world around them, is to offer yet another plea via a passive medium to consider God in your hearts. We do not know the day or the hour of our own demise, nor of the plans of God to send His Son, Jesus Christ, meaning urgency is prudent. Do not delay because you want to do it on your own accord, not because someone urged you too, lest you give them any credit or reason to boast. Think of the last time you considered God but passed on the thoughts because someone else was involved, or the situation wasn’t right, or you thought you’d do it tomorrow. How many times have you done that? When will the time be just right for you to consider? Now! It is now. He is waiting, patiently with love and anticipation at your running into His open arms.
Recent Comments