Dread of death ends when you know heaven is your true home!

In all my air travels I’ve never seen one passenger weep when the plane landed. Never. No one clings to the armrests and begs, “Don’t make me leave. Let me stay and eat more peanuts!” We’re willing to exit the plane because the plane has no permanent mailing address.

Nor does this world. Philippians 3:20 (NLT) says, “We are citizens of heaven where the Lord Jesus Christ lives.” Why don’t you do this? Why don’t you give God your death? Imagine your last moment. Envision your final breath. Offer it to God. Deliberately, regularly. “Lord, I receive your work on the cross and in your resurrection. I entrust you with my departure from earth.” With Christ as your friend and heaven as your home, the day of death becomes sweeter than the day of birth.

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Is the dread of death robbing you your joy of life? It can.

At the age of 37, Florence told her friends her life hung by a thread, and so she went to bed. And she stayed there—for 53 years! She did die, at the age of ninety. Except for three years, Florence cowered before the giant of death. During those years she made a name for herself, not as one who suffered, but as a friend of those who did. History’s most famous nurse, Florence Nightingale lived, as a slave of death.

What about you? Jesus came to deliver those who’ve lived their lives as slaves to the fear of dying. Death sits in his jurisdiction. Psalm 139:16 (NLT) says, “You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment laid out before a single day had passed.”

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No one told me newborns make nighttime noises. All night long. They gurgle; they pant. They keep Daddy awake. One night I was on baby duty and Jenna’s breathing slowed. I leaned my ear onto her mouth to see if she was alive. When she burbled and panted, so did I. That’s when a tsunami of sobriety washed over me. We’re in charge of a human being!

I don’t care how tough you are. You may be a Navy SEAL who skydives behind enemy lines. Doesn’t matter. Moms have thirty-six weeks of reminders elbowing around inside them. Dads, our kick comes in the gut later. But it does come. And for me it came some years ago, in the midnight quiet of an apartment living room, as I held a human being in my arms.

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One of my favorite childhood memories is greeting my father as he came home from work. My brother and I would take our positions on the couch and watch cartoons, always keeping one ear alert to the driveway. Even the best “Daffy Duck” would be abandoned when we heard his car.

I’d run to meet Dad and get swept up in his big arms.  He’d put his big-brimmed straw hat on my head, and for a moment I’d be a cowboy. When we went indoors and opened his lunch pail, any leftover snacks—which he always seemed to have—were for my brother and me to split. What more could a five-year-old want?

But suppose my dad, rather than coming home, just sent some things home. No deal. That wouldn’t work. Even a five-year-old knows it’s the person, not the presents. It’s not the frills; it’s the father!

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Each year God gives millions of parents a gift – a brand new baby. And dads make a decision. Make our children in our images? Or release our children to follow their God-given identities?

As dads, we accelerate or stifle, release or repress our children’s giftedness. They will spend much of life benefitting or recovering from our influence. But remember, our kids were God’s kids first. We tend to forget this fact, regarding our children as “our children,” as though we have the final say in their health and future. But we don’t. Wise are the parents who regularly give their children back to God. In the right time and the right way, God will give your child back to you.   

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In Mark 5:23 we meet Jairus: a leader of the synagogue, one of the most important men in the community. But the man in this story is an humble man, who says again and again, “My little daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so that she will be healed and live.” He doesn’t barter with Jesus. He doesn’t negotiate. He doesn’t make excuses. He just pleads.

There are times when everything you have to offer is nothing compared to what you’re asking to receive. What could a man offer in exchange for his child’s life? So there are no games, no haggling. So Jairus asks for help. And Jesus, who loves the honest heart, goes to give it. And God, who knows what it’s like to lose a child, empowers his Son.

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My daughters are too old for this now, but when they were young—crib-size and diaper-laden—I’d come home, shout their names, and watch them run to me with extended arms and squealing voices. And for the next few moments we would speak the language of love. We’d roll on the floor, gobble bellies, and tickle tummies and laugh and play. We delighted in each other’s presence.

In this very special dad time my kids let me love them! Psalm 127:3 through 5 reminds us that “Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from Him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.”

I’m a blessed man!

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On my list of things I wish I’d learned earlier, this truth hovers near the top. Grace came my way packaged in a church. Congregations and their leaders changed me. But then churches struggled, even divided. Mature men acted less than that. The box ripped, the faucet clogged, and my heart, for a time sank.

Not a moment too soon, I heard the invitation of the still-running fountain. “If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink.” God describes himself as “the fountain of living water.” Thank him for the faucets, but don’t trust them to nourish you. Thank him for the boxes in which his gifts come, but don’t fail to open them. And most of all, do not fail to read the note: Dear child of mine. Are you thirsty? Come and drink. I delight in you, and I will never fail you or forsake you!

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When the doctor who’d examined the tremor in my hand said, “You’re fine. You’re in good health,” I did what you might expect – I began to weep. “How much time do I have left?” The doctor cocked his head, puzzled. Wait a second! you’re thinking. Didn’t you hear what the doctor told you? And I’m wondering, didn’t you hear what heaven told you?

That response to the doctor? I made it up. I was elated. And now when I see my thumb shake, I chalk it up to an aging body and I just place my trust in the doctor’s words. Do the same won’t you? For just as my thumb will occasionally tremble, you will occasionally sin. And when you do, remember sin may touch you, but it cannot claim you. Christ is in you! Trust his work for you. Trust his work in you. Your heart is his home, and he is your master.

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Dry mouth. Moist palms. Pulse pounding. Eyes darting over your shoulder. Heart in your throat. You know the feeling. You know the moment. You know exactly what it’s like. Policeman have stirred more prayers than a thousand pulpits! Upward prayers become backward thoughts. What did I do? How fast was I going? The policeman is standing at your door. No one likes the thought of judgment.

1 John 4:18 (NLT) says, “Perfect love expels all fear.” You need never fear God’s judgment. Not today. Not on Judgment Day. With perfect knowledge of the past and perfect vision of the future, God loves you—perfectly—in spite of both. Jesus is speaking on your behalf. “That’s my friend,” he says. And when he does, the door of heaven opens. Trust God’s love. His perfect love. It can handle your fear of judgment. And slower driving can handle your fear of policemen.

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For more inspirational messages please visit Max Lucado.