Tag: death

That Might Explain It

No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him. John 6:44

Recently I attended another high school reunion – our 55th. We have these gatherings every five years, but because of Covid the last one was four years ago. So, our much anticipated 50th ended up being 51 years after graduation.

Even in the four years since the last reunion, we had lost some classmates, and I don’t imagine we’ll get to the next reunion without losing more. The most recent loss was John, whose passing had shocked everyone – a sudden heart attack in the middle of his workout at the gym, and he was gone.

I thought surely by now my former classmates would be pondering their own mortality, the rapidly passing time, and whether or not there was anything awaiting them after this life. I fully expected numerous opportunities to share my faith in my resurrected Savior.

John’s “celebration of life” was an event attended by hundreds of people. Musicians played classical music, a choir sang “What a Wonderful World,” a soloist sang a Cat Stevens song, and for two hours people reminisced about John – his athleticism, his success in business, his philanthropy, his humor. Stories were shared about this wonderful, funny, successful, athletic, generous person – who has now left this world forever.

I listened for some hint of John’s faith, any mention of God, heaven, eternity, any shred of hope offered to the people there, all of whom will also leave this life very soon. But there was nothing – not even the generic mention of “a better place.”

At the reunion dinner that followed, people talked about how wonderful the service had been. All I remembered was a hollow performance. I tried to express my thoughts to my friend Laurie about the hope of life after death, but she adamantly insisted that by remembering John, in a sense, we’re keeping him alive. I was baffled that I seemed to be the only person wanting more than fading memories of me after I leave this world.

Laurie and I later encountered a couple of people we had known in our school days, who were just saying goodbye to another man I didn’t recognize. This man was unusually thin and frail and was breathing oxygen from a small tank. (I later learned he was in hospice care.) After he was out of earshot, one of the others said, “He asked me, ‘How’s your spiritual life?'” with an expression of amazement that said he thought that was the strangest thing anyone had ever asked him. (I was touched that he had dragged himself to the reunion for one last ditch effort to reach his former classmates before his own departure.)

Laurie laughed, “I’m glad he didn’t ask me!” Then she looked at me and added, “He should have asked Ann!”

The others looked at me curiously, and I responded, “As a matter of fact, the older I get, the more important those things are to me…”

But no one asked me to elaborate. The subject was changed quickly, and the conversation continued as if I had left the building.

During the other events of that weekend, I reconnected with former classmates with a growing awareness of how fleeting time is. The boys who had proudly flaunted their long hair in high school now have much less of it. One of my girlfriends has Parkinson’s. Several of “the girls” didn’t make it to St. Louis, either because of sudden health issues of their own or a health emergency involving their husbands. Some are now widowed. And of course, some we will never see again in this life.

How can they be so indifferent to the speed at which we are all careening towards eternity?

Generally speaking, with a couple of exceptions, which I’ll write about next time, I returned from the reunion feeling let down. And baffled that so many people in this stage of life seem to have no concern whatsoever about the future, even after seeing a classmate “in excellent health” be working out in the gym one moment and gone the next. (Where is John now???) Many had also seen an old friend about to leave this life who is perfectly at peace – God bless him. – but appeared unimpressed.

Back in Louisville, I met with my book group to discuss R. C. Sproul’s Chosen by God. I still struggle with the Calvinistic view that some of us are chosen, others aren’t. But it might be starting to make sense to me in light of recent experience. I’ve long known we can’t save ourselves by our own efforts; we’re saved through faith, not works. But is it true that we can’t even believe without God’s help? According to Ephesians, apparently yes.

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.” Ephesians 2:8

Could it be that most of the people I encountered that weekend had no interest in thinking about God, because they were quite literally unable to? From all appearances, these people didn’t know Him – and didn’t care. Had I been looking into the faces of dead souls? And if they had no ability to even be interested in spiritual things, much less grasp them, that meant there was nothing I could have said to make them interested, unless the Lord Himself opened their minds.

That doctrine always puzzled me before, probably because I can’t imagine being indifferent to God – I have wanted to know Him for as long as I can remember. And as this life’s end is looming on the horizon, I can’t imagine not caring what comes next. But according to Sproul and others, we can’t even care without His help.

I’m still pondering these things, but for now, I have no other explanation.

Prayer: Lord, thank You for giving us the gift of salvation, even though none of us deserves it. Thank You for the gracious gift of faith which enables us to have this relationship with to You, the faith which drew us to You in the first place. Please open the hearts and minds of those we love. Draw them, as well, so that they, too, may find eternal life in You. And help us to be faithful witnesses, even in frustrating times. In Jesus’ name, amen.

What I’ve Been Writing Lately

What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. – James 4:14

Recently a fellow blogger emailed me, wondering how I’ve been, since I haven’t posted lately. I was touched (and a little surprised) that I had been missed. In case anyone else has wondered “where I’ve been,” here’s a partial explanation:

I have been writing, just different things – correspondence with my church regarding an outreach I’m heading up, a message for a speaking engagement in February, and sadly, my memories about some old friends who have passed – “old” in both the sense that I have known them for a long, long time, and so they were somewhat “old,” like me.

Sandy, the youngest, would have turned 65 yesterday, which I would have considered “old” as a teenager, but now that I’m racing through my seventies, 65 seems young. I first met Sandy in a youth group I led fifty years ago. She asked the most questions, had the most enthusiasm for whatever we were doing, and seemed the “hungriest” to know God. We kept in touch after she graduated and moved away, and when she met the love of her life, Paul, I traveled across the state to be her matron of honor and to sing a song I had written (one of my best) for their wedding.

When Marty and I lived in Port Huron, Michigan, traveling to Manistee frequently during the summer, Sandy and Paul lived in Bay City, at about the halfway point. So, whenever I was driving alone, I would stop and meet them to “catch up” over lunch. When our Kelly came along about the same time as Sandy and Paul’s Luke, our party grew by two highchairs, one for Kelly and one for “Ute.” Later it was booster chairs, but getting together with those three remained a happy tradition. About two decades and a couple of moves later, Kelly and I traveled to Indiana for Luke’s wedding, and Sandy and Paul came to Michigan shortly after for Kelly’s wedding. When we had moved to Louisville, Sandy and Paul had moved to Goshen, Indiana, still the halfway point to Manistee! This drive was longer, so I would stop for the night. Sandy and I would do our “catching up” into the wee hours of the morning, trying not to wake Paul.

I saw Sandy just once or twice a year, but whenever I did, we would just pick up where we left off. Other than Christmas and birthday cards, we didn’t correspond a lot, so when Paul texted me from Sandy’s phone, “Sandy went to heaven yesterday,” I was shocked. I hadn’t even known she was sick. (I had known her sister was sick. She was the one I wrote about a few months ago. https://seekingdivineperspective.com/2025/10/30/nyah-nyah-and-i-mean-that-in-the-best-way/ ) Once more I traveled to Goshen, this time to share my memories of Sandy at her memorial service. I thought her mother must be devastated with the loss of two daughters within a couple of months. But when I arrived at the church, I learned that she too had gone to heaven, less than a week after Sandy. I imagined those three together again, having the party of their lives. (I tried not to be miffed that I hadn’t been invited – yet).

In February I learned George had departed. George was a classmate of mine … sort of. He attended the all-boys school next door to the all-girls school I attended. We had class together only once, in our senior year, when the schools combined for English classes. Both schools also worked together on theatrical productions. I worked backstage when George had a role in the musical at the boys’ school. Later he was a singing pirate, and I was a major-general’s daughter in “The Pirates of Penzance” at my school. George was one of those super-nice guys, funny, easy to be around (not “cool” or intimidating), and liked by virtually everyone who knew him. I’m sorry I won’t see him at our reunion next month. I would like to have thanked him for making my high school years a little more fun – and a little more bearable. Sometimes I didn’t like myself much, but talking to George made me feel more like I was someone worth liking.

Days later, the news came about John, another sort-of classmate, a gregarious guy and outstanding athlete, who suffered cardiac arrest suddenly while working out. That was truly shocking, and it still seems surreal to me. John’s family and mine had been friends since before I was born – school, church, even going on vacations together. And now there’s one more face I won’t see at the reunion.

As I wrote out my memories of George and John in the class email, I couldn’t help thinking, We’re at that age where this is not going to be uncommon. Do we think we’re going to live here forever? So, I added a P. S. to my eulogy:

“For those of you who are still on the fence about coming to the reunion, thinking you might ‘sit this one out’ … maybe next time…’ stop and ask yourself how many ‘next times’ we have. Even for those of us who have to travel to get there, reconnecting with one another is well worth the extra effort. I have never regretted going to a reunion.”

But more important than “reconnecting” with one another is asking yourself if you are ready to be the next one we say goodbye to. This life, I’m finding more and more, is fleeting and unpredictable. We can’t put off forever the most crucial decision of all:

What will you do with Jesus? Will you reject Him, tolerate Him, ignore Him, or bow to Him as LORD and Savior?

Your answer to that question will determine whether or not you will be at the Great Reunion in heaven that will last for all eternity. Whatever you do, don’t miss that one!

Prayer: Lord, for some reason we need constant reminding of the brevity of life and the consequences of our choices. Make us aware of Your holiness, our sinfulness, Your offer of grace, and Your sacrifice to make that gift possible. Help us to live accordingly, so that when this life is over, we will have no regrets. In Jesus’ name, amen.