Death

My first real provoking of thoughts around death, was an incident during winter of my Sophomore year in high school. I was on the bus, pulling away from school, and I witnessed through the window (along with the other half of the bus that had moved to my side, students pushed up against me to get a look through the frost) a boy had come behind another boy and body slammed him. The victim's head hit the concrete curb and we watched as the boy's eyes rolled back and he began to seizure from the head trauma, a river of blood flowing from his head, slipping down the ice and staining the plowed snow around him.

I wanted to cry. I journaled that evening about it, but it was the only consolation I received, because the school staff and administration never made any mention of it, and never followed up with updates. I guess they chalked it up to another bad fight that didn't deserve attention. But I was sure he had died. And no one seemed to care.

I remember being overwhelmed for a time about how fleeting life is, and how unfair it can be, and how hopeless it can be. Yes, I thought these things at 16. I remember those feelings almost as clearly as I remember the hope filled certainty of my salvation during my Sophomore year in college. I remember there being moments I was so overtaken by the truth of the gospel that I literally told God I was ready, if he was, to go. And I meant it. Yes, I meant it, at 20 years old.

I still believe that, that death has no place with me, that I will never taste it, I will never feel its sting. My readiness takes on different degrees these days, with my husband in mind, friends who don't believe yet, my unborn children... but I know it is truth, when I am quiet and prayerful. And I know that God will not allow anything to happen, not even my death, without him receiving full glory in it. And that, is consolation enough for me.