Life's Race

So in the wee hours of the morning last night we were awakened by the phone. Never good. A beloved church family member passed away of cardiac arrest and my husband was called to the hospital to be with the family (for those of you who don't know, he is a pastor). After making him some coffee, turning off the lights, and locking the door behind him, I went back upstairs and laid awake in bed for about an hour, praying for this man's family, for my husband as he ministered to them, and whatever else came into my mind.

I fell asleep sometime in the five o'clock hour then woke again briefly when Zach came back from the hospital. In my morning dreams after I fell asleep one more, I dreamt I was running in a race. The end point was hazy. There were lots of people, but we weren't ever all in the same place at the same time. The race ran through cities, over rivers, past construction projects and outdoor theatre productions, through a prison, into a church, and many other places. There were pauses here and there during which I was frustrated that the others might be getting ahead of me. I was awakened by my little son before the race ended, but I imagine if I had stayed asleep, it would have continued indefinitely, the end point moving further away or the dream transforming into something else as dreams tend to do.

And here I sit in the family room with Calvin, him watching a movie as I contemplate and listen to the thunder and rain outside. My muscles are sore from much weeding and gardening yesterday. My coffee this morning turned out to be hot chocolate. (Doesn't Cafe Mocha say chocolatey coffee to you? Oh, well.) My house is awaiting cleaning as we prepare for dinner guests. And my mind is muddled with thoughts of grieving friends, laundry that must be sorted, a toilet that's flushing too slowly, a Sunday school lesson to prepare, and a husband who is undoubtedly weary after a week of fighting his recurring insomnia.

Life goes on like my dream race, frantic, then pausing for some while others rush on. The family of our friend who died last night is in a pause. Others move on, but they will remain where they are for some time. At some point they will rejoin the race. But the endpoint for each of us is different. It is always the same in its essentials—we will all one day reach the end—but we will reach it at different times and in different manners. And we never know when the finish line will come into view. Sometimes we reach it suddenly through cardiac arrest or a terrible accident. Sometimes we have the finish line in view for a long time as we suffer from cancer. But we will all reach it.

But just as after a race there is more, either the thrill of victory with a cheering crowd or the disappointment of loss, death is not truly the end. There is existence afterward. And the way we run the race is what determines what happens to us after we cross the finish line. I'm not talking about the things we do during life. It's not about good works outweighing the bad in our lives. It's about which team we run for.

May the death of a loved one or friend always remind us of our own eventual end and make us ask the question—what will happen to me when I cross the finish line?