how much time is left?

Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I sat up on the couch and looked down the hall. The bedroom light was on and the door partially open. Not sure what was going on, and still half asleep, I shuffled toward the light.

The closer I got, the worse I felt. The closer I got, the slower my feet wanted to move.

I stopped at the doorway and slowly pushed the door open, dreading what I would find, knowing what I would find.

There, in bed, were all three of them, three of my closest friends in the world. And one of them was now dead.

Nobody said a word as I walked in, staring at my friend’s face the whole time. His eyes were closed but he had a pained look on his face, his mouth wide open. His wife still held him in her arms, not wanting to let go, not able to let go.  

I sat down on the bed with them, and no one spoke for the longest time. There wasn’t any need. We had suspected he wouldn’t last the night, and he didn’t. That’s why we had all gathered at his house. The end had finally come, just minutes before I woke up.

There would be no more hospital visits, no more hanging out with him at his house after getting off work, and no more experimental treatments.

I will never forget the look on my friend’s face lying in bed. Never.

And yet that painful memory is softened considerably with another—better—memory. The last time we talked, the last time he was able to communicate, he smiled weakly, shook my hand and said, “Thanks for coming by, Chris.”

I can still see his smile, despite the intense pain. Even though we had barely said a word to each other the whole time I was there, he truly appreciated my company. I could see it on his face. I can still see it on his face.

I miss my friend so much. A part of me died with him. And yet, we got to spend a lot of time together in his last months—I had made sure of that.

Why do I share this story with you today? Just a reminder that we all have limited time here on earth.

I’m alive right now, but will I be later today? Maybe, maybe not. The same goes for you and everybody else who’s been blessed by God with the gift of life.

Because of that reality, what do you need to do right now? Make a phone call? Write an email? Text somebody? Stop by for a visit?

“Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.”1

Hug your spouse. Call your folks. Hold your children in your arms. Text your friend. Make memories with your grandchildren.

Surely you’re not going to just stop reading this blog and go about your business as if nothing’s changed, are you?

I didn’t think so. So, what are you waiting for? Do what you need to do.

Trust me. You’ll be glad you did.

1  James 4:14-15