Emerald has never been accused of being drama free. At three years old she has a knack for blowing all of life way out of proportion.
For instance, this spring has been a stormy one down here in Texas. For the first time in her mostly drought-plagued life, she is confronting a fear of thunder and lightning. This afternoon the skies opened up and a glorious soaking rain drenched our little town, and despite the fact that it was practically sunny outside, and despite the fact that there were only a few rumbles of thunder here and there, Emerald clung to me in our living room and asked, Mama, are we gonna die?
And, I answered as all mamas would: No, baby. We’re not going to die.
She settled happily into my lap and we rocked there and watched the rain, enjoying the fact that, today, at least as far as we knew, we were not going to die. But, I couldn’t stop thinking about her question. Mama, are we gonna die?
Yes, baby. We’re going to die.
Only God knows when or where or how. But, it will happen. One day, maybe when we’re old and tired, or maybe when we’re young and full of life and passion and potential. We will die.
Someday she will understand these things. And, I will do my best to teach her the hope that comes from knowing Christ. The faith that says physical death is only a starting point. The joy of living out the next hours or days or decades for His glory and His honor.
We don’t need anyone’s white light stories to believe in both of these truths: We will die. And, we will never die.
Emily Dickinson once wrote, “I dwell in Possibility.” But, Emerald will soon learn of a God who thrives in impossibility. And, for this reason, she and I can believe with all we have and with every breath that we take, that the end of this life is only the beginning of an eternally beautiful relationship with the God who makes all things possible.
Yes, baby. We are going to die. And we are going to live forever.