Life is a Gift

Heavy 24 hours. In the encouraging news, my wife's father, while still in the hospital, continues to heal. Hopefully he will be transferring from the hospital into a physical therapy facility soon. I truly appreciate the prayers and support that has come our way during this time.

Now the heavy part. I got the word that two dear friends are dealing with tremendous losses. My friend Kelley's father had a massive stroke and passed away yesterday in Nashville. I had only met her father a few times, but it was obvious to me that he was a sweet, gentle caring soul. He'd have to be to raise a daughter as awesome as Kelley is.

Moments after I processed that news via email, I received a call from my dad that a dear family friend of ours, Pat Holiday, passed away after a long battle with cancer. Pat had been sick with cancer for some time, but to me, you'd never know it. Always smiling. Still singing in the church choir. Mr. Holiday was my youth leader at church growing up, and I seriously cannot think of a time when the man didn't have his huge, warm smile on his face. He was the type of guy that would take the time to plant flowers on the grounds of our neighborhood elementary school, just "so the kids will have something pretty to look at."

My favorite memory with Mr. Holiday was when he took me and a couple buddies from the Church Youth Group sledding (this was before the days of Global Warming, when it still snowed enough to go sledding.) We drove Mr. Holiday's truck to the top of an enormous hill and made our first run down. As we are laughing and walking back to the top to do it again, Mr. Holiday says "It sure looks like my truck is moving." Sure enough, it was. We all take off running up the hill, as his truck was backsliding on the ice. He jumped in and put on the brakes just before the truck plowed through a fence. Me and the boys were on the cold snow, tears streaming down our face with laughter. Mr. Holiday laughed even more. Big times.

So as I sat in my bed last night thinking of these great men and what they have meant to so many people in their time here on earth, I said a prayer of thanks. I picked up a Donald Miller book I'd been meaning to read for some time, Through Painted Deserts. A paragraph from the intro jumped out. It was as if God was speaking to me through the text:

"It's a living book, this life; it folds out in a million settings, cast with a billion beautiful characters, and it is almost over for you. It doesn't matter how old you are; it is coming to a close quickly, and soon the credits will roll and all your friends will fold out of your funeral and drive back to their homes in cold and still and silence. and they will make a fire and pour some wine and think about how you once were...and feel a kind of sickness at the idea you never again will be."

I sat the book down and said a prayer of thanks. Because this life IS a gift. But it doesn't last long. It should be lived and enjoyed and cherished. Just as Kelley's dad and Mr. Holiday did. And though this life, it seems, is often much too short, we can take comfort that the one to come will last forever.