What I Learned From a Funeral I Haven’t Attended Yet

Funerals inspire me. They always have. There is something in the reminder of my mortality that compels me to make the most of each day.

And there have been a number of funerals particularly meaningful to me. I can remember the details well. They each surrounded lives well lived. No doubt, you can remember some yourself.

But perhaps the most inspirational funeral in my life is one I did not attend.

It hasn’t even happened yet.

Years ago, my grandfather, a pastor of 70 years, called me into his office. I knew his office well. He pastored the same church in South Dakota for 53 years. And the items in his office always stayed the same: the large wooden desk, the typewriter, the bookshelves, even the drawer where he hid his candy. I came to visit him often whenever I was in town.

But being specifically requested to meet on a designated day at a designated time was a rarity. Little did I know why he invited me. He wouldn’t tell me until I sat down across from him at his large wooden desk.

My grandfather started like this, “Joshua, I would like you to read Scripture at my funeral. Here is where it will take place in the service,” as he slid a piece of paper across his desk with the detailed order of service. Over the course of our time together, he laid out specifically his hopes and desires for his funeral.

This God-fearing man who had planned and performed so many memorials during his life had just planned his own.

Planning one’s own funeral is not necessarily that rare.

People do it all the time. That fact was not what surprised me so much about our conversation. What struck me most about our conversation that day was the confident nature by which he spoke. Death did not scare him. There was no fear in his demeanor. He did not regret the coming end to his days.

And there are few things in life more inspirational than peering into the eyes of a man who does not fear his own death.

My grandfather has lived a remarkable life. He still does, and thankfully so. He sits in a new office these days where he continues to reach hundreds of thousands of people with his messages of hope and life.

Even years later, I think often about our conversation that afternoon. Often times we hear about the regrets of the dying—and we are warned to avoid making their mistakes.

But rarely are we offered the alternative.

Rarely are we given an example of how to face death with few regrets. And rarely are we presented with the intentional decisions we can make today that will prepare us to face our own mortality with courage and confidence.

As I look back at some of the themes from my grandfather’s life, I begin to find my answers.

1. Make peace. My grandfather has made peace with death and peace with God. He did so 83 years ago at the age of 10. Even to this day, he will credit it as the single most important decision he ever made. And he continues to point others to his decision as the only foundation for lasting peace and hope. It is indeed a living hope inside him.

2. Love well. My grandfather loves people with a rich love. He loves his kids, his extended family, friends and enemies. His love for my grandmother is so great he speaks freely of his desire to join her in death. This is not a surface love just for show, but one that includes his heart, his mind, and his soul. This is the type of love that allows us to reach the end of our lives with confidence and few regrets.

3. Work hard. My grandfather is 93 years and still works 55+ hours/week leading one of the most important ministries in our world today. Nobody has shaped my view of work and fulfillment more than him. In a world that can’t wait for Friday and plans exhaustively for early retirement, my grandfather has stood steadfast in his appreciation for work and the fulfillment we receive from it. When we reach the end of our lives, we ought to be able to look back knowing we offered all our talents and energy to the world around us.

4. Give freely. My grandfather is one of the most generous men I have ever met. Even while raising a family with four kids and struggling to make ends meet, my grandfather never turned his back on a legitimate request for assistance (and didn’t turn his back on some illegitimate requests as well). From cash to food to housing, my grandfather gave and gives freely. He has given to me and he has given to strangers he will never meet again—all with joy and gratitude. Generosity in life provides opportunity to look back on our days with few regrets.

5. Hold lightly. My grandfather has always dreamed bigger dreams for his life than the offerings of this world. He has held everything this world offers with an open palm: money, possessions, fame, and prestige. He never viewed them as his own and rarely pursued them out of selfish gain. They are given to him at times, but the praises are always redirected and the material possessions are always reinvested for spiritual pursuits. Death always involves letting go of the world. And the sooner we learn how to do it, the sooner we prepare ourselves for that day.

Seneca once wrote, “It is not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste a lot of it. When it is wasted in heedless luxury and spent on no good activity, we are forced at last by death’s final constraint to realize that it has passed away before we knew it was passing. Life is long if you know how to use it.”

May each of us be inspired today to make the most of it. And cross the finish line with little regret.

What I Learned From a Funeral I Haven’t Attended Yet is a post from: Storyline Blog