Into the other room

As I was home in Moss on holiday I learned of a tragic accident involving a local lad that occurred (I believe) on Crete. This boy of 18 and three other friends of his were just spending their dozing days off by 'chilling'; basking in the sun and doing all kinds of things that no one can do better than people his age.

One bleak, harrowing morning the other boys found their friend dead on the ground below their fourth floor veranda. No one knows exactly how the youngster died, but it was, in all likelihood, just a meaningless, freak coincidence. The boy was not suicidal. He was just busy having fun when his life was cut short. Eighteen years away from his birth, and suddenly the sun set. Gone. And where?

I heard once a preacher employing a brand new (to me) metaphor describing what death is like: it is, he said, like walking into another room. But this room can only be entered into. There's no exit, no key to open what slams shut behind your back. It's a solitary experience, one that we're never quite ready for, and decidedly not so when we're about to really start pursuing the promises of adult life.

I'm only 42 and have three children depending on my care, emotional support and spiritual and moral guidance. To them I am somehow indispensable, and yet I have no guarantee whatsoever that I'll live into my 70s or 80s watching them have children of their own. My journey into this other room may happen anytime, no matter how I try to live my life, carefully avoiding the common dangers surrounding us.

I have nothing to fear from death although I have to walk those steps alone. My Lord and Saviour will be there waiting for me. And he has the key to open the door.