To (Almost) Die is Gain
My watch pinged as I headed to bed. “You have new test results in your patient portal.” Andy and I joked that it was perfect timing—we could stay awake all night worrying about whatever the results were. That was Monday. On Friday we sat across from a second neurosurgeon. We haven’t typically sought second opinions, but this was literally brain surgery, so we did our homework. The doctor pointed to the hazy MRI and said what the previous surgeon had also told us: My tumor was very close to a vein that fed off the jugular vein, but he couldn’t know how involved the tumor was with that vein until he did the surgery. I nodded along as if I too could discern one blur from another. “What would happen if you nicked that vein during surgery?” I asked. “I already told you,” he said, “Death.” Surgery was scheduled for the following Wednesday, and I had four days to prepare for what might be the end of my earthly life.
As you have likely guessed by now, the surgeon did not nick that vein and my earthly life continues. When I had only four days to contemplate that I might die, it was discombobulating. I love that word. It’s onomatopoetic. What would you do if you thought you had four days left? I cleaned my bathroom. Ridiculous, I know. Is that the best use of such potentially limited time? No, but it was something concrete I could complete in the time remaining. For everything truly important, four days was not enough time.
Weeks after my craniotomy I received a call from the doctor’s office. A new patient was asking to speak with someone who had faced a similar diagnosis. I happily agreed to talk with her. She was close to my age and, like me, she had a husband and two young-adult sons. She asked me, “How do you prepare to die?” I couldn’t help but think it’s best to start long before you get a diagnosis like ours. Four days was not enough time for the most important preparations, but thankfully, I had been preparing for a long time.
I remember my mom praying with my little brother over his baby food, and when I asked her who Jesus was, she explained the gospel to me, starting with the bad news that I was sinful and ending with the good news that Jesus died on the cross for my sins. From that moment, I trusted in Jesus and have been ready for death ever since. In those four days when I considered what it would be like to meet Jesus, I was confident that I would hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Not because I have done well and been a good and faithful servant, but because Jesus was faithful in my place. When I meet my Maker and Judge, I will not stand in the filthy garments of my own sin. I will be clothed in the righteousness of Jesus. I’m ready!
It was my family who would have suffered most if the doctor had nicked that vein. It’s not because I’ve been the world’s best wife and mom but because I’ve been their wife and mom. How could I prepare them for life without me? Andy’s dad was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer a month after we were engaged. He knew his time was short, so he prepared his wife by giving her advice and talking through upcoming financial decisions with her. He recorded a special message for his daughter’s wedding, knowing he wouldn’t be there in person. He attended our wedding despite his pain and fatigue. These were sweet gifts for his family, but the much bigger gift was all the years before where he had shown his love by teaching and training them, praying for them, taking them to church, and showing them the value of Christ through the way he lived. He knew he was dying for two months, but he was preparing his family long before that.
To the best of my ability, I have also been preparing my family throughout my life. Andy and I have done our best to teach our children to trust and treasure Jesus by reading the Bible together, praying, attending church, and taking every opportunity to acknowledge God’s goodness to us. When I have sinned against Andy and our children, I have tried to be quick to apologize and ask for forgiveness. We give frequent hugs and tell each other we love each other often. I didn’t try to cram all of that into the four days before surgery.
The Bible tells us “It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of everyone; the living should take this to heart” (Ecc. 7:2). I don’t remember much about volleyball in middle school, but I do remember how frequently the coach reminded us to be in the ready position. If we waited to bend our knees and extend our arms until the ball was in front of us, it would be too late. Being in the house of mourning reminds us to be in the ready position. Andy’s dad had a little warning that his end was near. My dad, on the other hand, walked out of the house one morning and never came home. What started as a beautiful morning in the woods ended with a week in a coma on life support before he succumbed to injuries from a logging accident. It’s good he was ready, because he didn’t get any advanced notice.
One benefit of almost dying is the way it put my family and me in the ready position. Another benefit has been the freedom I have felt because every day since my surgery feels like a bonus day. I might not have been here shopping and cooking for my family; they could have been stuck doing all the laundry and dishes and trying to make the holidays festive without my help. Anything I do for them at this point is more than I might have done.
When I thought my family might face life without me, part of what I realized is that I’m not that important. God would have given my family grace for each moment if he had chosen to bring me home. On the other hand, how much nicer for my family when I am here to help them with all the mundane tasks of life and the weightier matters like praying for them and encouraging them—not to mention the fact that I love them in a unique way. To die would have been gain for me, but to live is Christ, and that means serving my family just as Christ came not to be served but to serve (Mark 10:45). Unlike some people who feel like their life must have been saved in order for them to do something exceptional, I feel like my life was saved in order to keep serving my family and my church, and to keep becoming more like Jesus. Instead of feeling the pressure to accomplish something extraordinary, I feel the freedom to live a quiet life, minding my own business and working with my hands to make life richer for my loved ones (1 Thess. 4:11).
And finally, almost dying has increased my fear of God while decreasing my fear of man. When Jesus sent his disciples out to proclaim that the kingdom of heaven had come near, he told them, “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matt. 10:28). I remember when it first dawned on me that “the One” who can destroy both my soul and body in hell is God. That is who I should fear. My eternity will be immeasurably longer than my vapor of a life on earth. I want to spend this brief time pleasing the one who could destroy me but has instead chosen to rescue me. Conversely, I want to live less afraid of those who, in a worst-case-scenario, can only destroy my body. What do I have to lose? I’ve already faced death. I’m ready. To (almost) die is gain.