Death, a stranger and a friend

[I wrote this several weeks ago but found it hiding as a draft and decided to post it after a quick revision.]

Death is not a topic I've ever tried to write about. (Actually, come to think of it, there was that really bad story I wrote in ninth grade....) I am a novice at this subject. I have not had to experience much in the way of loved ones dying, and certainly nothing tragic in my own family. But it's on my mind lately for several reasons.

One, in another post last month I mentioned that I am glad we cannot stop death. That is still true, but wow, it is a complex sentiment. I felt badly after writing it as my mind turned to a mother who has had to experience (such a poor word, sorry I can't think of a more suitable one!) her infant son's illness and death, and then I thought of several other real people I know who have had tragic losses. Was I too callous in writing that I'm glad we do not control death? Maybe somewhat...to the degree I didn't explain where I was coming from, at least. Death is highly personal, and what I wrote had to do with death as a principle. It is central to my devotion to God that He be the sole One who controls when "all men are appointed to die." I love Him for this. I love His power and sovereignty. Yet I am sure it is hard to stand in the face of its harsh reality. War, cancer, poisoning, drowning, torture, mutilations, murder, suicide... these are tough paths and I am unfamiliar with them. Above all, losing a child must be an astoundingly wretched and enduring pain. I can only hope that in every case, mercy follows close behind.

Second, there is a type of death I am familiar with... it is "death to self." Death of ego. Death of expectations, of dreams. This is something I've once again experienced recently. I hate going through His refining process... up until the point I realize that's what it is. Sometimes it takes weeks or months of slogging through half-truths and complaints and resentments and delusions before I cry out to God to relinquish my load. And then I crumble. The truth rushes upon me, breaking down all the false arguments in my mind and spirit, weakening me, making me listen to that "still, small voice." And then I know I am in good hands. Broken, but better off broken. What I was holding out for, my rights, my expectations, my dreams... all become so much less in the significance of my humbled spirit in His sight, and the tenderness with which He speaks to me in the aftermath. I am more alive. There is direction for the contrite. Righteousness is the path He puts us on, but it is the opposite of self-righteousness. It is righteousness accompanied only by the death of self, and yes it is narrow, it has definitions and limits, but it is pure, and it goes ever onward toward greater things.

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit,
A broken and a contrite heart--
These, O God, You will not despise.
Psalm 51:17, A psalm of David

Most assuredly I say to you, unless a grain of wheat
falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone;
but if it dies, it produces much grain.
He who loves his life will lose it,
and he who hates his life in this world
will keep if for eternal life. --Jesus Christ
John 12:24-25

Now no chastening seems to be joyful for the present,
but painful; nevertheless, afterward it yields
the peaceable fruit of righteousness to those
who have been trained by it.
Hebrews 12:11