As I walked away from my mother's grave, a thought occured to me.
Borrowed time.
We are all living on borrowed time.
Mom had interstacial fibrosis of the lungs, an incurable hardening of the aveoli (tiny air sacks). The fall, the broken hip, and the surgery only precipitated the inevitable slow suffocation that she would have faced. In some strange mercy, going from cleaning out the refridgerator with her oxygen tube attached straight into the arms of Jesus was a shock and a blessing.
Kathryn had her first heart attack thirteen years earlier - the year our Kathryn was born. She had had her second eight years later, while hovering over her 39 year old daughter at Methodist Hospital in Rochester, MN, prior to her "baby's" back surgery. On that day, the head of thorasic surgery from Mayo Clinic was on duty with 11 interns, and they made her congestive heart failure their weekend project.
I don't remember the statistics exactly, but women don't do as well as men after a first heart attack and most women don't survive a second. So all the love, all the letters, all the chocolate fudge and pancakes, all the notes of encouragement to her kids (with newspaper articles and $5 bills attached), all the hugs and stories for her grandchildren - all of these were gifts from a woman who shouldn't have been there. All of these were gifts to me, to my kids, and to the 400 people at her funeral who stood when the preacher asked, "How many of you have received a letter of encouragement from Kathryn in the last year?"
Borrowed time. My children, my friends, my family, and my life were all blessed on borrowed time.
If you use this in preaching Sunday (Father's Day), make the point, then pause and ask people to turn to one another and ask them:
1. How do you treat something you borrow?
2. What would you do, say, and be today if you knew you were living on borrowed time?
Then play the country song "Live Like You Were Dying" and do an Oprah, walking around the sanctuary with a microphone and let the people finish your sermon.
Blessings,
Rich
PS. Mom's dad died of a heart attack on her wedding day. He was 52. Her brother and sister both had their heart attacks at about the same age.
At 49, I'm living on borrowed time. How about you?
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