Walking the path

(2-minute read)

We used to have a dog that absolutely hated to take a bath. In one house where we lived, we had a walk-in shower with a door. I was taking her in to bathe her in the shower, and when she saw the door open, she had put two feet on one side of the door and two feet on the other and was planning not to go in. Her feet were so far apart that she began looking more like a spider than a dog at one point. I don’t know why, but I suddenly thought that, on the day I die, I will probably go out just like that, fighting it all the way.

If I had been cognitive enough in the womb, I might have fought being born. With my hands and feet out, I can see myself trying to stop that whole process. It was going into the unknown, which was scary. On the other side of being born awaited a guy who grabbed me by the feet, held me upside down, and gave me a swat on the bottom, making me cry. That was his way of saying, “Welcome to our world.”

When I die, I want to have a “good death,” meaning no crying or begging and at least look like you’re courageous even if you’re not. It’s one of those “rules for guys” that all of us guys try to live by. Our dog may have been hoping to be courageous and have a “good bath” before she saw the shower door. I don’t know who wrote those rules for guys. It’ll be funny if, when I get to heaven, I discover the rules were written by sorority sisters in the 1800s while on their first attempt to drink a keg of beer.

The way the Lord treats me, it’s as if he considers my life in the womb, my life here on earth, and my life in heaven as if it’s all just one life. Even though I’m near the end of my life on this earth, I’m still very near the beginning of my life in total. The Lord seems to see death as just another adventure he gives us. It seems like a scary adventure to me, but it’s an adventure I will obviously need.