Seasons of Life: Winter

 

Finally, winter comes.  This is the most difficult for me to write.  Of course, I’m not there yet so I cannot speak from experience.  Also, we all know that winter is the final season.  Therefore, it means the end is near.  No one likes pondering death but that is the ultimate destination for every living creature on earth. 

 

I spoke to my dad late yesterday as I considered what I should write.  At first, I didn’t think he understood my point.  Then he said something to prove his understanding.  He said, “One of the things when you reach my age, (he is 83) is most of the people you know are dead.”

 

I was silent.  What can you say to that?  Then dad started listing family members that are gone.  Too many died too soon.  I am older than most of them when they died.  It seems to me the goal for the winter season of life is to prepare for death.  How does one do that?  I think part of having a good death means having a good life. 

 

I have two suggestions to live a good life.  For the first, we should treat other people as we want them to treat us.  Do you do that?  If we truly lived this, the world would be a better place.  For the second, if you believe in an afterlife, it is vital to live in a way that you end up in the paradise of your belief.  As a Christian, I believe the only thing I can do to gain access to heaven it to believe and accept that Jesus paid the penalty of all my misdeeds.  No other effort on my part is good enough. 

 

As I’ve mulled over what it means to live in the winter season of life, I am left with the nostalgic paradox of it all.  Spring is full of vibrant energy and a desire to thrive.  When we end spring and move into summer we desire to continue life as we have children of our own.  We are full of things to do as we nurture our own lives and those of our children.  With autumn, life begins to ebb.  The chicks leave the nest and we have more time to ponder who we are and what life is.  When the cold winds of winter blow and snow masks the dormant earth with frosty white, we are wiser still.  With our minds, we still feel much younger, but our bodies speak the truth. 

 

When my grandma Phillips died, she was 98.  Secretly, I hoped she would live to be 100.  For a long time, I wanted to live to be 100 but not just to live that long.  I wanted to be vibrant and look younger than my years.  When I reached 100, I wanted look like I was 70.  I don’t think I want that goal anymore. 

 

I don’t want to have a funeral attended by a mere few people.  For as long as I can remember, I wanted a funeral with many present.  It isn’t that I want a lot of people to be sad.  Rather, I want to have positively touched many lives.  I don’t want to outlive any good I do.