My world was muted in stunned silence while tremors of sadness and insecurity roared and vibrated uncontrollably at my core.
Through belief in God and faith in his plans, I was able to rebound and redirect, but Dad's death changed the way I lived. I was so grateful for the brightness and fullness with which my dad lived, and yet his sudden departure seemed to cloud my joy and hollow my hope.
No matter the complexities of my motivations, I like to think I've lived my adult life with intentional diligence, not taking anything for granted.
With grace, and also to a fault, I've spoken the truth. Likewise, with grace, and also to a fault, I've opted to withhold it. But I've never lost consciousness that our days are vaporous and moments are fleeting.
One Friday morning this past spring, a mid-morning phone call disrupted the easy-going day I thought was mine. My co-worker had suffered a "fatal cardiac event", but first responders successfully resuscitated him after several minutes had passed.
My day was paused as frenzied concern and critical priorities forced actions to fast-forward and caused thoughts to rewind.
I sat in the waiting room with his daughter in her twenties and pondered the parallels ... realizing it was only in those dreadful few moments of heart attack and cardiopulmonary resuscitation that our stories were similar. I never got another word with my dad, and she had already been back with hers to exchange several words and a few hugs. Their story was different. But the same.
I am 47 - the age my dad was when he died. This timely juxtaposition is not easily dismissed.
I consider fatal cardiac events, and I contemplate the resuscitation of heart and lungs.
Revival.
Over the past six months, I've watched as my co-worker - through wise choices and skilled therapy - has been rehabilitated and restored to an even better life than before. His body is strong and healthy. His mind is miraculously unharmed. His spirit is beautifully reformed with a humbly bold approach to his work and relationships.
For years I've lived as if the next breath were my last.
Perpetually processing the potential of passing away.
Today I choose to live as though this breath is my first.
Recently resurrected.
Revived once again.
I want more than to merely survive another blip in the linear advance. I want to live renewed - thriving in breaths of purpose and rhythms of praise. Hopeful and unafraid that life is mist. Determined that the riches of wisdom won't be missed.
For these last 23 years I have lived with a sense that my time was borrowed ... burdened by the notion that things are uncertain, circumstances can change in an instant, and death is just around the corner. More fear than faith, honestly.
As I begin my third set of 23 years, I choose life: resurrection and abundance ... realizing things on earth are still uncertain, circumstances still change in an instant, but death is in the past. Less fear, more faith. Honestly.
Galatians 2:20 - "I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me."
