Number my days

A friend of ours died last night. Just like that.

She was out to dinner with her husband, and then…she was gone. A woman in her mid-40’s. A wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a teacher. Gone. Ripped from the fabric of her family’s life with no warning.

Her parents, who just 3 years ago buried a son, now have to bury a second child.

Her brother is suddenly an only child.

Her husband now finds himself a single parent raising three children and caring for his aging mother alone.

Her children – one in college, one a senior in high school, and one in kindergarten – will never see their mother again.

Her students – who just that afternoon said goodbye to their teacher for what they thought would be a one-week vacation for Thanksgiving – will return in a week to a substitute.

And I think, How…? WHY? Her family has endured SO MUCH…Why this? Why now? Why THEM?

How does a parent bury a second child?

How does a father suddenly become mother also to his children?

How do teenagers – and a young child – suddenly find their way without BOTH a mother and father to guide and love them?

God’s way certainly seems unclear and hard to understand. His plan certainly seems cruel and unfair. His timing certainly seems too soon and too sudden. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain and shock her family must be experiencing. To have to plan a funeral during this season of giving thanks…it just doesn’t make sense.

As we were praying during scrap night last night, God reminded me of this verse:

“Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” (Ps. 90:12)

God knew Shelly’s days. He knew the exact number of them. He knew the hours, the minutes, the seconds we would have to know her and love her. And He knew the perfect time for her to be ushered into her eternal dwelling, where she would no longer be bound by time.

But we didn’t. Her husband didn’t go to dinner with her knowing that this would be the last meal they’d share together. She didn’t wake up that morning thinking, “This will be the last time I’ll see my children off to school.” Her students didn’t say good-bye that afternoon thinking it was forever.

When I received the news, I was at scrap night with a small group of friends. We had spent time together, praying, crying, pleading for a miracle. When we heard that she had passed away, we quietly cleaned up, gathered our things, and headed home. I know I hugged my husband tighter last night…was more grateful for him lying beside me in bed…was more appreciative of the fact that I have him with me for another day. And I think, “Teach me to number my days”…to appreciate these little blessings I take so often for granted…to love my children deeply and with sensitivity and compassion each day…to care for my husband and be his true partner every moment…to be a faithful friend and cherish the moments we share together…for I do not know when it will be my last opportunity to do so.

Thank you, God, for Shelly. Thank you for her life and for her family. Thank you for the friendship we shared, and the opportunity I’ve had to be a part of her life. Thank you for the times we’ve had to share together in ministry. Thank you for the lives she’s touched as a teacher, a co-worker, and a friend. Thank you for the number of her days and for the privilege of sharing in some of them. May her legacy continue on through those who loved her.

Amen and amen.