A Child's Wisdom

About 10 days ago I sat on a porch swing with 2 young friends. One is 7 and I'll refer to her as "S"; the other is 10 and I'll refer to her as "Z". It was a clear, beautiful mountain evening and we had been swinging for 2 or 3 minutes when "Z" looked over and said:

"Miss Julie, we only need to be afraid of bears here, right?"

Not wanting them to be freaked out or unreasonable I replied, "well, not afraid as much as aware they could be around. We also need to be smart about it."

She seemed to accept that answer when "S" said, "And mountain lions. We need to be afraid of them too. They jump on you and bite the back of your neck."

Z said, "Well, if a mountain lion bites my neck I'm going to bite his ear!"

S: "You can't bite his ear because you'll be dead."

Z: "Well, dying isn't so bad. It's just your body that dies. My spirit is going to heaven because I know Jesus. Plus, I'll come back with a body to rule with Jesus when He comes back."

I sat there dumbfounded and eeked out a very quiet, "You're right, Z, you're absolutely right." I put my arm around her shoulder, hugged her close to me and kissed the top of her head.

The truth is, I have been fairly afraid of death these past few months. Not so much the being dead part but rather the dying part. I know I'm ready spiritually for the afterlife but I'm just not ready to leave Steve yet...or my family...or my friends. I just don't feel like I'm done yet.

I actually had to seek some counsel about this a few months ago because this particular fear is contradictory to my faith. I was assured that this is normal although the person who counseled me said most of the time he has that conversation with someone in their 70's or 80's. He further said it's one of those things that really catapults a person's spiritual growth and until we come to terms with it, we aren't ready to fully and completely live. That provided some comfort.

But here was this 10-year-old who gets it. She has no fear. As I told her mom about this conversation she got tears in her eyes. It isn't the first time she's heard that. Apparently the two of them have had similar conversations. "Z" says things like, "I'm ready to go, mom." I can't even imagine! I would cry too.

Simply amazing is the only way I can describe this child's faith and wisdom. I believe this is why the Apostle Paul told Timothy in 1 Timothy 4:12 (ESV) to "let no one despise you for your youth."

So, as I continue to work my way through this fear and come to terms with my mortality, this conversation rings over and over in my brain. No doubt I'll arrive, hopefully with as much grit and tenacity as my young friend.

Denial From Out of the Blue

Last week as we drove home from a few days at a mountain retreat something hit me from clear out of the blue.

My mind started to wander in this direction after I listened to the voice mails that had accumulated while I was gloriously out of cell service. One of them was from a woman at the doctor's office. We'd been playing phone tag and while I told her I'd be out for a few days, she called anyway. Her purpose was to schedule me for a particular treatment. Actually an undetermined series of treatments. She also said she had the "approximate cost share" I would have to pay.

Because it was the very news I had been dreading, I decided I would wait and call her back the next day. I just wasn't ready. From the day I sat in the office and he told me about the treatment I cried. The nurse was so compassionate but nothing she said would make it better. I appreciated the effort though.

But aside from the cost (which I didn't know the exact details of that day), why was I so opposed to this particular treatment? I stared out the window for miles and asked myself that very question over and over. Why? Like a ton of bricks the answer fell in my lap. I turned to Steve and said, "you want to know something?" Before he even answered I said, "Cost is only part of the reason I am opposed to what Dr. A wants to do." He asked, "what's the other part?"

"I don't want to do it because it's what sick people do," I replied on the verge of tears. He briefly looked over and said, "well, you ARE sick." I stared at him as if he'd thrown ice cold water in my face. No, I am not, I thought. But that's not true. I am. Through a stream of tears I said, "I'm not ready to concede that yet. I don't want to be."

The ever practical man sitting in the driver's seat stated, "It really doesn't matter what you WANT to believe. You ARE sick."

And there it is. Denial in its most ubiquitous form. I am thrown way off guard with this realization. I don't know what to do with it yet.