The Story Behind “On The Day I Die” by Bob Jones

I wrote a post about living and called it, “On the Day I Die.”

Morbid?

No.

Attention grabbing?

I hoped so.

The content has been shared in our local St Albert newspaper and on blogsites.

I wrote the post after going through three funerals in twenty-four hours on a holiday weekend. I helped lay to rest a 19-year old, an 89-year old and a 53-year old. Two were sudden deaths.

Even for a pastor that’s a lot of death to deal with.

Funerals are unparalleled moments in a pastor’s ministry. Caring for people at a time of crisis and grief is part of my calling. I lean into it. People become vulnerable in bereavement like no other passage in life.

Funerals affect me. At times deeply.

Each funeral reminds me of my own mortality. My day will come.

That reminder is a gift of life that comes from death.

After that particular holiday weekend I sat down and imagined what would happen on the day I died. Especially if my death was unexpected and while I was still serving as a lead pastor at North Pointe.

The process was cathartic.

To imagine the end of my days was a profitable way to see how I should be living the rest of my days. I highly recommend it to you.

What seems SO important and urgent is cast in a healthy perspective.

On the day I die, the few people who really know and truly love me will cry.

And so knowing this, I force myself to remember that my time with family and friends is finite. And fleeting. And precious.

It’s easy to waste so much daylight in the days before you die.

Don’t let your life be stolen by the bill of sale on all that you’ve been led to believe matters.

On the day you die, the fact is that much of it simply won’t. Matter.

Hug hugely.

Kiss tenderly.

Love without fear.

Live your one and only shining life for the one and only eternal God and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Bob is a recovering perfectionist, who collects Coca-Cola memorabilia and drinks Iced Tea. His office walls are adorned with his sons’ framed football jerseys, and his library shelves, with soul food. He writes to grow hope, inspire readers, forge authentic faith in Jesus, and help others discover what's really important in life.

You can follow his writing at Pointes Of View.

For Fewer Ahead Than Behind, I'm Thankful — Lynda Schultz

Our pastor resigned last week. Gone are the days (for which I am thankful) when all of the rest of the staff would have been required to resign as well. This brief descent into madness was meant to give the "new guy" a chance to form his own team. The intentions were good even though the chaos created by massive resignations was a bit hard on the church!

In any case, I mentioned to our elders that whoever they interviewed should be allowed the option of a grace period after his arrival during which he could decide whether or not the staff he had inherited was the right "fit" for his vision. I'm on staff so I was talking about myself and it was only later that I realized that the elder to whom I had spoken thought I was worried about my job security.

I'm 62—today. Given the trend in finding a senior pastor, it will likely be about two years before we find the man that God has for our congregation. If God chooses to parachute him in long before the stats say he's supposed to arrive I'll be more than happy. But supposing that we are as average as the rest of the world, I'll be 64 by the time the new man comes. It will take him a while to decide whether or not I "fit" and it may take me a while to figure out if I want to "fit." By that time I'll probably be 65 and about as unconcerned about job security as anyone can be.

I really was sincere in my concern that our new pastor, whoever he is and whenever he turns up, have the freedom to choose the people he works with. I honestly was not concerned about job security.

It sounds odd that I am thankful for being 62, and for being able to say honestly that there is a certain freedom that comes with age. It's the freedom to look back and have an "aha" moment when I am reminded of how the Lord has blessed me and kept me over all the years I have known Him. The remembrance of past privileges overwhelms me still. But with age also comes the freedom to look ahead and anticipate other blessings. I'm a year closer to eternity and that's wonderful, but before I get there I can look forward to freedom 65 (I missed "Freedom 55") and the possibility of doing some of the things that I don't have the time as a "working woman" to do now.

Perhaps I'm still a bit naive—astounding at this stage of my life—but I think the best is yet to come. I don't know what it will look like but I believe that on this side of heaven there are still mountains to climb, experiences to savour, a less hectic pace to enjoy, and maybe even some books to write. Aging doesn't signal the end of the road; it marks a different road. And the best thing about it is that, thanks to Christ, all the roads, whatever they end up looking like, will lead home.