One of the first things that Father told me after we found out about my loved one’s terminal cancer diagnosis was this: it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. He told me that the journey we would go on as a family would be something that would draw us even closer together, and that it would be a precious thing, something that we would remember and cherish with a heart full of thankfulness and wonder, not a bitter memory that we would try to forget.
Society today is so focussed on the destination. It’s all about the end product: what job you have, what car you drive, what house you live in, what clothes you wear and what holidays you take. The unfortunate result of getting sucked into that way of thinking is that life becomes all about getting to that ‘destination’, and if we’re not careful we become so focussed on getting “there” that we forget about living “here”. It’s like the story of the guy who put all his effort, time and passion into climbing the ladder he was on. He sacrificed so much to climb that ladder, only to discover when he eventually got to the top of the ladder that it had been leaning up against the wrong building.
Two things strike me about that story: firstly, the only ladder you want to be climbing is the one that is leant up against the building that is Jesus (metaphorically speaking!), because He is the only way; the only destination worth heading for. He’s the truth that will break every lie you’ve believed, and He is life in all fullness, complete with joy, peace and fulfilment. The second thing about the journey up the ladder is this: take the time to stop and enjoy the view. Look around you. Notice the little things that you would otherwise not see. Get some perspective. Rest when you need to. Have fun. Be silly! Take the time to just sit and chat to others about real stuff, stuff that matters. Heart stuff.
So if it’s not about the destination, but about the journey, then what does the journey look like? Well, for our family on this particular journey, it’s about being real and authentic. We said from the beginning that no-one was allowed to “be brave”. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a time for bravery and courage and for taking the bull by the horns, and I’ve done that many times in my life. But when you’re grieving, that’s not the time to be brave. That’s the time to cry, to be real, to share your heart, to feel the pain and not try to ignore it by “being brave”. We were able to do this with my brother and his family recently, and it was the most precious time I think we’ve ever shared with them. Truly life changing.
The journey’s also about finding those precious ‘wildflower’ moments that I talked about in my first blog – the moments that, if you’re rushing around, you might miss. For me one of those moments was when I washed my Loved one’s hair recently. She struggles to wash her hair, as she gets very dizzy and falls over. So I washed it and blow dried it for her afterwards, which she absolutely loved. And as I was gently rubbing the shampoo into her hair, I thought about how many times she had washed my hair when I was a child, rubbing the shampoo in my hair and rinsing it carefully so shampoo didn’t get into my eyes. And now I get to wash hers. (I could burst into a chorus of “It’s the Circle of Life” here, but I won’t, I promise!). It was a precious moment in the journey.
It’s also about making memories, and capturing them so that they stick in your heart like super glue. One memory I will never forget is meeting with my loved one and her pastor to plan her funeral service. Watching her laughing about which funny songs she wants to have played, listening to her giggle about the funny stories she wants us to share during the funeral service, and seeing her satisfaction at knowing “how wonderful” it was going to be when we share the gospel with those who might not know the truth. A very, very precious memory. Surreal, but precious.
One of my favourite movies is Dead Poet’s Society, partly because I relate to the way the teacher (played by Robin Williams’) taught the kids, the way he pushed the boundaries and broke them out of the boxes that they had been squeezed into. When I was a teacher, I was a bit like that; I liked to challenge the “way things were done”, desiring to help every child find the treasure that God had placed in them, and discover how unique and amazing they were.
The other reason why I love this movie is because of the theme that is woven throughout the movie, that of “carpe diem”, which is Latin for “seize the day”. I want to seize every day. I don’t want life to whiz by me as I focus all my strength on climbing the ladder of success, or pass by me in a haze as I waste valuable moments on foolish unworthy pursuits. I want to seize every day that Father God gives me, and walk it with Him. I want to make the most of every moment I have left with my precious Loved one. And when she dies, I will continue seizing every day, loving my good Father with all of my heart, and living this life to the full with the amazing family and friends that He has blessed me with.
I found a poem that says it a lot better than I can. It’s by a guy called John Pavlovitz, who I later discovered is a pastor. I hope it speaks to you as much as it did to me.
May you know His goodness as you walk through your Fields of Grace.
“On the die I day a lot will happen. A lot will change. The world will be busy.
On the day I die, all the important appointments I made will be left unattended. The many plans I had yet to complete will remain forever undone. The calendar that ruled so many of my days will now be irrelevant to me.
All the material things I so chased and guarded and treasured will be left in the hands of others to care for or to discard.
The words of my critics which so burdened me will cease to sting or capture anymore. They will be unable to touch me.
The arguments I believed I’d won here will not serve me or bring me any satisfaction or solace.
All my noisy incoming notifications and texts and calls will go unanswered. Their great urgency will be quieted.
My many nagging regrets will all be resigned to the past, where they should have always been anyway.
Every superficial worry about my body that I ever laboured over; about my waistline or hairline or frown lines, will fade away.
My carefully crafted image, the one I worked so hard to shape for others here, will be left to them to complete anyway. The sterling reputation I once struggled so greatly to maintain will be of little concern for me anymore.
All the small and large anxieties that stole sleep from me each night will be rendered powerless.
The deep and towering mysteries about life and death that so consumed my mind will finally be clarified in a way that they could never be before while I lived.
These things will certainly all be true on the day that I die. Yet for as much as will happen on that day, one more thing that will happen.
On the day I die, the few people who really know and truly love me will grieve deeply. They will feel a void. They will feel cheated. They will not feel ready. They will feel as though a part of them has died as well.
And on that day, more than anything in the world they will want more time with me. I know this from those I love and grieve over.
And so, knowing this, while I am still alive I’ll try to remember that my time with them is finite and fleeting and so very precious—and I’ll do my best not to waste a second of it.
I’ll try not to squander a priceless moment worrying about all the other things that will happen on the day I die, because many of those things are either not my concern or beyond my control.
Friends, those other things have an insidious way of keeping you from living even as you live; vying for your attention, competing for your affections. They rob you of the joy of this unrepeatable, uncontainable, ever-evaporating Now with those who love you and want only to share it with you.
Don’t miss the chance to dance with them while you can. It’s easy to waste so much daylight in the days before you die.
Don’t let your life be stolen every day by all that you’ve been led to believe matters, because on the day you die, the fact is that much of it simply won’t.
Yes, you and I will die one day.
But before that day comes: let us live.”
Blog first published in June, 2017
Nicky Heymans is an author of historical fiction who is known for drawing fresh life and inspiration out of familiar Bible stories. She would love to hear from you! Please feel free to share your thoughts or ask questions by scrolling down to the bottom of this page and clicking on the 'contact' link, and she will get back to you.
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