George and I went to a funeral this week for a lady from church. Emma was 92 and I have known her as long as I can remember. I don't like funerals. Does anybody? Well, George seems to find them interesting. I don't like to think about death. Does anybody? But it is a part of life.
As I sat in the funeral home during the service I kept glancing over at my Grandpa often with tears in my eyes knowing that in the not-too-distant future I will be sitting in a similar situation again and again. He turned 92 yesterday. He has been slowing down considerably as of late and he isn't too happy about it. Pete cuts his grass each week to earn a bit of money and lately I've been coming along to help weed or plant flowers. Every time I do there Grandpa is, dragging barrels over for the weeds, trying to rake up the soil, anything he can with his now gnarled hands. But then he sadly tells me "I just can't do anything anymore". A few weeks ago he mopped his floor and the next day wondered why he was so "bushed" and sore. What a terrible feeling it must be to have to slow down.
And while I am trusting in Christ for my salvation that doesn't stop the at times uncertainty of the unknown of living forever. And at those times I am reminded of something that Corrie TenBoom, a survivor of the Nazi concentration camps wrote about what her father told her when she was fearful about persecution or death -- “Corrie,” he began gently. “When you and I go to Amsterdam, when do I give you your ticket?” “Why, just before we get on the train.” “Exactly. And our wise Father in heaven knows when we're going to need things, too. Don't run out ahead of him, Corrie. When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need – just in time.”
It seems that my Grandpa is ready for his ticket. And I know too that when that day comes God will give me the strength I need to press on.