Originally posted on my private blog, I thought this one might interest some of my readers as well.
My four year-old, Little Bean, discovered out of nowhere the other day that people die. Not just other people, but us, our family, even he could die. He came up to me while I was lounging on the bed with Miss O and asked me point blank if humans can die. When I told him that every living thing would eventually die, he thought I was joking. But when I insisted that it was true, he began to cry.
His crying broke my heart because it meant that he was growing up. It meant that I couldn't protect him from the inevitable sadness he will feel when someone he loves dies. It meant that soon, very soon, not only will he know what death is, but he will learn what killing is. And once he figures that out, he will know what hate is. My little boy is growing up into a man already, and the big, ugly world is showing itself to him bit by sinful bit.
But his crying was also a reminder that I too should grieve the concept of death. Not just the death of a loved one, but death itself. The very idea of death should bring tears to my eyes as it did for Little Bean. Death only exists because sin exists, and that should grieve me. Every time I am reminded of death, I should be reminded of the cause of death--sin--and I should grieve for a world gone bad.
Thank God that Jesus has conquered death, and that as a Christian I can have hope in His resurrected life. Death may grieve me, but my God has beaten death, and in the process given me life.