It was a small, friendly church in a small, friendly town.
When the doors were open, my family was there. Everybody knew everybody.
So it was big news when the new family marched up the aisle one Sunday morning, filling an entire pew on the left-hand side of the sanctuary near the front. I remember counting the children who slid down the row in size order. “…five, six, seven!” We were all amazed at the clean-cut, well-behaved mob of kids that self-consciously peeked over their shoulders to size us all up.
Though I didn’t know it at the time, that’s the Sunday morning I met my husband. He was kid number two. Sometimes, I can still see them just like that: a clannish, fun-loving bunch of siblings, all seven born within a nine year span of time, crammed together on that uncomfortable wooden pew, making every attempt to tease and bother each other and not catch their mother’s watchful eye.
It’s hard for me to think of them then…and now. Number three and four are gone--empty places on that pew in my mind’s eye. My dear husband has lost a sister and a brother to cancer in the past couple of years. Thankfully, we have an unshakable confidence that, indeed, they are not truly “lost.” Because both Carolyn and Jerry each had placed their faith in the finished work of Jesus on the cross, we know they are with Him in heaven right now. What a comfort!
And that brings me to the point of this blog.
I sat at the funeral service of my dear brother-in-law just days ago, tears of joy and selfish sadness spilling down my cheeks. Person after person stood to honor Jerry, this straight-shooting pastor who had relentlessly pursued them, sometimes annoyed them, but always loved them. He unapologetically confronted them with the truth of the Gospel. He had encouraged them, by faith, to surrender to King Jesus, to be rescued and forgiven and set on the path leading to eternal life with the Father. And they did—lots of them.
Jerry would have been embarrassed by all that was said about him that day. For him, from the time he finally turned his life over to Jesus, it was always all about the One who had mercifully saved him. But he left behind quite an amazing living legacy, an untold number of precious people also rescued and transformed by Jesus and now part of His Kingdom. Like us, they all will miss him. He was one memorable character.
As I pondered all of this that dreary morning, the question that replayed over and over in my mind was, “What will be your legacy, Eileen? What will you be leaving behind when your life is over? Or who?” I can’t stop thinking about it.
I am not the evangelist my brother-in-law was, but I can care enough about the folks in my life to make sure they know about my Jesus and how He has graciously rescued me. I can be ready to give an answer for the hope that is in me. I can pursue knowing Him and daily seeking His Presence by immersing myself in His Word and humbly praying. I can make sure I am using whatever gifts God has entrusted to me to bless His body and to advance His Kingdom. I can love others well. That will be a start.
And we all can start somewhere. Isn’t that what every Christ-follower can do? Hasn’t God even promised to help us when we try? We all are leaving some sort of legacy. It’s time to make certain it’s a good one, don’t you think?
Because the second thing I thought about at Jerry’s funeral was the urgency of working on that legacy, of doing those things I mentioned before in obedience to our Father, of actually being who He designed for us to be in whatever time He has wisely allotted us. Do any of us know with any certainty how much time we have here? Do we make the best use of the precious moments and hours we have been given? I can honestly say I don’t always. And I am not proud of that.
Kenny’s siblings were just over 60 when the days planned for them were over. We all know of many dear friends and family members whose lives were much shorter even than theirs. We simply don’t know how long any of us will be here on planet Earth, do we? Our Sovereign and All-wise Father has withheld that information from His children. But it begs the question, then, what are we doing today? Are we frittering away the unknown quantity of time we do have? We aren’t promised tomorrow.
I am so very thankful for my brother-in-law’s life--one lived with an almost singular purpose. His vacant seat in our lives brings deep sorrow and many tears. But his legacy challenges me to consider my own with urgency. How about you? Does it challenge you too?
However long or short our years, we can make the most of our days. I close with a prayer for us all from John Piper, Pierced by the Word.
Father, teach us to number our days
and to get a heart of wisdom.
Forbid that we join the world in forgetting
the certainty of our death.
Don’t let us play with the preciousness of life.
Make us ready to die well by helping us live
well by helping us trust You well.
Don’t let us be surprised by our suffering.
Don’t let us be surprised by being cut off early from this life.
Don’t let us balk at the betrayal of friends
and the blast of enmity.
Help us to embrace our lot and count it all joy,
And say with Paul, “to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
--Eileen Hill
