My eternity will be immeasurably longer than my vapor of a life on earth. I want to spend this brief time pleasing the one who could destroy me but has instead chosen to rescue me. Conversely, I want to live less afraid of those who, in a worst-case-scenario, can only destroy my body. What do I have to lose? I’ve already faced death. I’m ready. To (almost) die is gain.

My watch pinged as I headed to bed. “You have new test results in your patient portal.” Andy and I joked that it was perfect timing—we could stay awake all night worrying about whatever the results were. That was Monday. On Friday we sat across from a second neurosurgeon. We haven’t typically sought second opinions, but this was literally brain surgery, so we did our homework. The doctor pointed to the hazy MRI and said what the previous surgeon had also told us: My tumor was very close to a vein that fed off the jugular vein, but he couldn’t know how involved the tumor was with that vein until he did the surgery. I nodded along as if I too could discern one blur from another. “What would happen if you nicked that vein during surgery?” I asked. “I already told you,” he said, “Death.” Surgery was scheduled for the following Wednesday, and I had four days to prepare for what might be the end of my earthly life.

As you have likely guessed by now, the surgeon did not nick that vein and my earthly life continues. When I had only four days to contemplate that I might die, it was discombobulating. I love that word. It’s onomatopoetic. What would you do if you thought you had four days left? I cleaned my bathroom. Ridiculous, I know. Is that the best use of such potentially limited time? No, but it was something concrete I could complete in the time remaining. For everything truly important, four days was not enough time.

Weeks after my craniotomy I received a call from the doctor’s office. A new patient was asking to speak with someone who had faced a similar diagnosis. I happily agreed to talk with her. She was close to my age and, like me, she had a husband and two young-adult sons. She asked me, “How do you prepare to die?” I couldn’t help but think it’s best to start long before you get a diagnosis like ours. Four days was not enough time for the most important preparations, but thankfully, I had been preparing for a long time.

I remember my mom praying with my little brother over his baby food, and when I asked her who Jesus was, she explained the gospel to me, starting with the bad news that I was sinful and ending with the good news that Jesus died on the cross for my sins. From that moment, I trusted in Jesus and have been ready for death ever since. In those four days when I considered what it would be like to meet Jesus, I was confident that I would hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Not because I have done well and been a good and faithful servant, but because Jesus was faithful in my place. When I meet my Maker and Judge, I will not stand in the filthy garments of my own sin. I will be clothed in the righteousness of Jesus. I’m ready!

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