“Do you have any more questions about heaven before I turn the music on?”
One child piped in, “No, I just can’t wait to get there.”
Another added, “Me either. I can’t wait!”
Driving out of our neighborhood and into our day, my children began our trip with questions about the return of Christ and what heaven will be like. I quietly thanked God for turning our hearts to him that morning and reminding us of our eternal hope.
A few years ago we lived in a different state and every time we went to town, we had to pass a cemetery. At first, I hoped my children would not see the cemetery or ask questions, perhaps they would be distracted by the sprawling pine forests outside their windows. I didn’t want their innocent world marred by thoughts of death. Some days we would drive by and see a crew of men with an excavator digging large holes. Inevitably, families would be gathered at the graveside under a canopy, coming together to say goodbye. The next week we might see family members and friends laying wreaths and flowers at graves. My children watched from their windows as many families honored the lives of those now gone from earth.
As we lived there longer and drove by almost daily, I noticed my concern fading. My children, while watching the holes being dug and families mourning together, would ask very matter-of-fact questions about burials and funerals — “What are those men doing, mom? Do they go throughout the earth looking for people who have died and bring them back to the cemetery? How do they know when someone has died? Why are they decorating the graves with flowers?” They would also ask deep, thoughtful questions about the meaning of life and death, the purpose of our bodies, and God’s plan for eternity.
I started to realize that each conversation about death, while sobering, led us back to the beautiful truth of the Gospel, the hope we have, and also our need for a savior. We were able to talk about the value of life, from where that value comes, and how God cares deeply for, and intimately knows, every detail of every life. As a mom, I want to protect my children from the pain and ugliness of death and show them the beauty of life and God’s creation. But I also want to impress upon them our need for redemption — how can we see our helplessness without also considering the deadly consequence of sin? Talking about death gave me the opportunity to discuss why we need redeeming. We will all die one day and our sin has eternal consequences. But there is one who died, yet is now alive again and all of our hope rests in his life, death, and resurrection. If we don’t help them understand that our days on earth are limited and sin results in death and separation from God, how can we help lead them to the gift of redemption? How can we plant the seeds that God will water? God gently turned my fear into deep gratitude for that cemetery. It was the catalyst for rich conversations I might not otherwise have had with my children.
We only lived near that cemetery for one year and have since moved on. However, this past summer our family suffered a loss. Before losing our loved one we had spent those car rides talking about life and death, but for the first time my children experienced the death of one of our own. In the days since, we have spent time remembering, grieving, and asking more questions, wondering if our family member knew the Lord and is now with him. The questions feel enormous and some, at least for now, have no answer. Some children are still too young to understand the gravity of a life lost, but others feel the void deeply and find the grief coming in and out like waves on the beach. I feel the same way. This is not how things were supposed to be.
Praise be to God for the living hope to which we can point our children, especially as they grapple with death. We aren’t left in the darkness, stumbling about on our own. Psalm 139:12 says “even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day.” Isaiah 9:2 says, “…those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.” John 1:4 says “In him was life, and the life was the light of men.”
Hope in the face of death. Light in the deep darkness. Jesus is the light and life to which we can point our children. We have an eternal hope that does not disappoint or put us to shame (Rom 5:5).
Featured image by wirestock
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What a meaningful article, Erica. I also lost a family member this year, and I can relate so much. Thank you for this.
E.G., I am sorry to hear of your loss. Thank you for your kind words and please pardon my late reply. May our Lord, in his kindness, continue to comfort you.