Don’t you wish you knew when certain life events were over, like the last time you would visit a place or the last time you would see someone?
Maybe we would pay special attention if we knew we were experiencing a “last time”. Perhaps we would celebrate them in the way they deserved if we knew it was the last time.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” 2 Corinthians 5:17
That is yet another thing I need to embroider on a pillow: “You Will Not Get a Warning!”
How many times do I have to miss “last times” before I get this message? Apparently quite a lot.
For years, my oldest granddaughter and I had epic Barbie games. At first the games consisted of Barbies dressed in fluffy gowns, dancing with the prince at a ball. As she grew older, the dolls traveled and ate at restaurants and had sleepovers with their friends. Then, they became spies and Nazi hunters. As she dealt with the idea of death, the dolls went to uncountable funerals. The Barbies were dressed in dark colors and the eulogies were inspiring.
PC | Ann Kirsten
And then suddenly one day, she stopped asking to play. She had other interests and all the Barbie stuff was packed away. I wish I had known we were done. I would have made that last game a really epic one. But I had no idea that the Barbie days had ended.
Likewise, no matter how old my grandson got, whenever we turned on a movie he would grab my top crossed leg and throw it down and climb on my lap to cuddle while we watched. And then he didn’t anymore. He wouldn’t think of doing it now. I’m the one chasing him around for a quick cuddle. Did I drink in the smell of his fuzzy head and hold on tight to his child body enough before it was too late? I wish I had known when I was experiencing that last cuddle time.
PC | Ann Kirsten
From the time he was tiny, my other grandson wanted me to lay next to him at bedtime. I had to sing Scarborough Fair to him on repeat until he fell asleep. If I tried to switch songs, he would grunt and shake his head “no”. I’d laugh and switch back to Scarborough Fair. It was our thing. Now, he’s a big boy. He occasionally asks me to lay next to him in the dark, but we don’t sing. He talks to me like an adult. I haven’t sung Scarborough Fair in a very long time.
PC | Ann Kirsten
My youngest granddaughter was always cuddly. Rocking her to sleep was one of life’s great joys. Now she is a rambunctious kindergartener. She suddenly became too “busy” to be rocked anymore. With no warning, she was done being a baby.
PC | Ann Kirsten
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” Isaiah 43:19
And I’ve lost so many people in my life that I thought I’d have more time with. I thought there would be time to hear their stories, learn their history, and laugh together. But then suddenly they were gone and I had missed my opportunity.
Wouldn’t it be great if we had those warnings? Maybe a neon arrow flashing, “THIS IS THE LAST TIME!” Then perhaps I’d have closure and be okay with life moving on.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens…” Ecclesiastes 3:1
But no such arrow exists in my life and I am surprised again and again. Being unprepared seems to be the very essence of life. It is both exciting and devastating depending on what I’m surprised with.
“Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43:18-19
People say that we should all live like it’s our last day. Lovely thought. But is it achievable? I think I’d be worried all the time that I wasn’t doing enough for a last day. Was I rejoicing enough? Pausing enough? Loving enough? It sounds like too much pressure to me.
Instead, I take comfort in these words:
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” Hebrews 13:8
Things in this life are changing all the time without warning. But Jesus isn’t. I can count on that. And it is enough.
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