While I was out jogging this morning, I passed by an older gentleman walking his small dog. I’m sure we’ve bumped into each other many times before, but today was different. Normally, when I cross paths with a puppy, I don’t even notice the person on the other end of the leash. Yes, I’m just that much of a dog freak!
But today was all about the man. I don’t know his name, but he appeared to be in his late sixties or early seventies and was clearly enjoying retirement with his furry friend. No job to rush off to or busy schedule to keep, but only a beautiful crisp cool day to meander around the neighborhood at his own leisure. I thought to myself, “I wonder if he knows just how blessed he really is?” And with that simple thought, the tears began to fall.
Oh, how my dad would’ve loved retirement.
I can remember sitting in the carpool line at my kids’ elementary school on Friday afternoons. Quite often I would notice a set of grandparents in a car loaded down with blankets, pillows, suitcases, and ice chests. It was obvious they were taking the grandkids to some magical place where memories are made. I never once begrudged them; but oh, how I envied them.
As little boys, Landrum and his cousin, Carson, grew to love one of my dad’s favorite pastimes–golfing. During the summer, I would wait for them to wrap up nine holes so we could grab some lunch and head to the house. In those moments, I grieved my dad’s accident over and over again. Because I knew, without a doubt, he would be out on the course with them, were it not for a simple slip in the garage. Oh, the power of a single moment.
Yes, I still grieve all that was lost during the season following my dad’s accident. It’s far too much to share and the words wouldn’t do it justice anyway. But I simply cannot allow myself to grieve that he’s no longer with us on this earth. To do so would be utterly selfish.
If even half of what I believe about heaven is true, then I could never wish my dad away from there–even if it meant having him here, and healthy. For me, I could easily wish such a thing, but never for him. That would be an inconceivable downgrade, to say the least.
So, is it possible that the bitter part of a sweet life is our tendency to grow more fond of our years on this earth than of our inheritance waiting in heaven? To be totally honest, when life is good and everything’s rolling along smoothly, I like this place way too much. So much that I really don’t want to leave…ever. Maybe that’s at least part of the purpose of our suffering–to create in us a longing for something better. Something we know God has promised us, but maybe we’ve forgotten, or even disbelieved in our affection for and attachment to the things we love on this earth.
Think about it. You won’t find a schoolgirl longing for heaven; she’s too busy planning the perfect wedding. The same is true of that young wife who anticipates motherhood. Heaven may not be as appealing to the father who wants to walk his daughter down the aisle and the grandfather who wants to play golf with his grandsons one day. Oh, we all want to be in heaven, just not any time soon.
But one thing I learned from the final season in my dad’s life is this–you’ll find lots of people in the nursing home who are not only ready, but anxiously anticipating their departure from this world. Their bodies are worn out and most of their family and friends got a head start on the journey. Imagine a life like theirs–without any fear of death. Maybe it’s not possible for us to learn what they know without walking where they’ve walked, but oh how I wish we could.