A few weeks ago, I asked my dearest friend Marylou this very light and fluffy question:
“How do I not fear death?”
Not to be morbid, but I think about dying a lot. Maybe when you’ve walked through a lot of tragedy that’s a side effect. Or perhaps it’s because I have two special needs kids whose future is always on my mind.
Or maybe it’s because, after thirty-six years on this earth, I finally feel like I’m really fully living.
I don’t want this life to end.
But there’s a 100% chance it will, and since I like concrete answers, and no one has been to heaven and back to tell me to rest at ease, it fills me with fear.
So I asked my friend, who happens to be the closest person to God I know, what do I do? How do I get to my final days and not be afraid?
Marylou is a sharpshooter—which is why she’s my favorite human. She tells you exactly what you need to hear—which is often quite different from what you’d like to hear.
“What about my kids? They need me.”
“No, they don’t. Trust God, leave all the consequences up to him. Nothing is a surprise to our God.”
I often have a wavering faith. I’m in my infancy of Christianity. I have questions. But sitting with Marylou, watching her sip her coffee in that quiet café booth—listening to her elaborate on those words with such assurance even after a lifetime of trials—eased every inch of fear in my body.
Do not be afraid.
God says it. As does Marylou.
And so, I will believe.
To More Love,