If Ever You Should Die...

...I know I'd shave my head. It's not a morbid thought, I mean it out of love.

What do we do in the end? Do we gasp painfully and bulge our eyes out, arching our backs, screaming and clawing at the bedsheets, hoping to hold on to the last shred of life? This was the way that a missionary described the death of many Muslims he's seen. He spoke of seeing a glimpse of what was to come in those last few moments...and how it affects our last moments on earth.

"Glory!"

Endless screaming.

Peace.

Franticly searching for a rope to hold.

Gentle love.

Torturous destiny.


What does it mean to pass away? I think it means to go to the next life. Why else would it be called passing? Like walking across a bridge. I think that for unbelievers, though, it is the endless agony of a thousand deaths resting on his back and shoulders, beating him and biting him, as he attempts his journey over a precarious tightrope, only to see more agony on the other side of the ravine.

If I saw someone faced with a terrifying tightrope-walk in real life...I would try to save them, or get someone who could.

So why don't we when it's not the body, but the spirit that is in this danger and pain and peril? Why don't we show them the One who can save them then? Why don't we really love people?