I remember asking my parents as they got older why they always read the obituary section of their local paper. "Because it's the best way to keep up with our friends" came the honest but rather sober response. And as I get older I find myself doing the same, scanning the paper to see who has left this world and at what age.
The departing ages are of great importance to me as I get older and I have found I strangely either draw comfort or discouragement from this fact. But the most heartbreaking losses I view are children dying before their parents. The pain that accompanies this reality is too much for me to even imagine . . .
Viewing death as a real possibility brings a laser focus to one's priorities and tasks. But what about days when death seems as far away as Pluto in the night sky? I fear that in my life, especially as I get older, I move thoughts of death around in my mind like I'm arranging papers on my desk. And those thoughts are getting closer to the trash bin,
There are very few songs in my opinion that earn the adjective, "haunting". But when Christopher Cross released his song, "Sailing" in June 1980, that song established a special place in my memories. And it has continued to haunt me throughout my life.
When I first heard this song I was with some friends in San Francisco and we were exploring the city while waiting for news that the highway to Washington was going to reopen. You see, the highway up to Washington had been closed off and on since Mt. Saint Helen explosion in May. The volcano was still erupting, though not anywhere close to the scale of the May eruption, but it was still worrisome enough to temporarily block traffic on some of the highways. All this posturing would finally culminate in a minor eruption in July, 1980. (Quick side note: After hearing about the high mineral deposits contained in the volcanic ash - which was everywhere - we collected several garbage bags of the ash while we were exploring the Pacific coast. Upon returning home my friends and I were able to recoup the entire costs of our trip by selling mason jars of the ash. Turns out you can grow anything in that stuff . . . )
While exploring the city of San Francisco, this song seemed to be playing on the radio every hour. One memory that is burnt into my brain is waking up early to go jogging, (friends that have only known me since the 90's will be shocked at this revelation . . . ) and after my run getting back in my car at Fisherman's Wharf, being serenaded by the sights and sounds of the city, watching the fog bank retreat into the Pacific, and hearing this song being played on the radio. Magical times.
If I were honest, 3 a.m. and nobody else around to hear me honest, I would admit that most of my struggles in life originate from internal pressure versus external environments. My peace disappears when I take my eyes off of God's goodness and promises and start to focus on what I don't have and what I can't do. This starts a destructive spiral until I ask God for forgiveness and repent of my disobedience. Then He is faithful to forgive and restore me based on His goodness and mercies. Yet, I don't think I'm the only one who struggles in this area . . .
It was a rainy, chilly evening in the Rocky Mountains. We settled into our seats, perched high above the stage below. We were at the world famous Red Rock Amphitheater which is located near Denver, CO. If there is a venue anywhere in the world that combines acoustics, nature and design better than this place, I would very much like to see it. Even in our seats the music was powerful, and natural. In fact, I remember closing my eyes and it seemed like the band was right in front of my face.
