Actively dying. It’s a strange idea. And a stranger act. Have you seen it, though? Someone who is actively dying?
It’s a deathbed scene. Not the place most people choose to be.
Internally, the person is reliving their life. They are working through unresolved issues and situations that happened in their life. Oh. It may not be pretty. It may end tragically. But people need to resolve issues before they pass on. Some passings are peaceful. Others are fraught with anxiety and rehashing of events past. Some who are actively dying ask for loved ones. They want to see the person one last time. Perhaps to hold their hand. Look them in the eye. Say some final words. Then they’re free to leave this earth. Their final business is finished.
Others go in peace. They’ve worked through their unresolved issues long before their last breath. They’ve forgiven. Mended fences. Said their piece. Let bygones be bygones. They’re free to go.
We’re all actively dying from the moment we’re born. Oh. We’ve just begun to live. We haven’t hit our peak. But we’re dying. We can’t count our toes. We can’t even walk. But we’re dying. You see. We’re born to die. It’s that simple. It doesn’t matter what happens in life. It doesn’t matter what we do. It doesn’t matter how long we live. We will die.
If any of you wants to be my follower, you must give up your own way, take up your cross daily and follow me. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it. Luke 9:23-24
I find the older I get, the more I’m actively dying. I have to die to myself everyday. Every. Day. I have to die to my wants. My dreams. My goals. I have to place myself and everything about me in God’s hands every day. I die to myself. It isn’t my way that I want. It’s God’s way.
I have to make peace with my mistakes. My attitudes. My words that should not have been spoken.
In my actively dying state, I need to forgive those who have hurt me. I need to mend fences where there are tears. I must work on resolving issues that still cause me to lose my breath.
The dying to myself is sometimes painful. The letting go of my will. The tearing down of my gods. The softening of my stubborn ways. Oh. The pain is real.
When a rose bush is pruned, part of the branch is cut off. Left useless so the stronger, fuller branches can grow and produce more fruit. The same goes with the pruning of my stubborn soul. I must allow God to cut off my dead and useless branches. Then he can prune the branches that are bearing fruit to produce even more. I must be willing.