The church bell rang ninety-five times in commemoration of each year of her life. "That's ninety-five Christmases," my sister whispered to me. It was good to just sit there in the wooden pew, with the sunlight streaming through the stain glass. Cars whizzed by, bikers rushed past, moms chattered as they pushed their strollers. It was May and things were green and bright and alive outside, while inside we talked about death. But we talked about life too, and Jesus.
Often, I see others (myself included) mentally counting down days until the end of certain events -- semesters, deployments, summer jobs, assignments, projects. And I'm realizing that one day there will be nothing left to count down. We track the hours and weeks and years, but when we face death, we run the other way. But this is my hope: that I will not be afraid of death -- that I will look forward to meeting Jesus in all His glory.
And it was good to hear those bells because it reminded me how to view life.
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