Do you ever wonder about the skeletons in people’s closets?
I do.
Ask Tom DeLay…he has skeletons. Ask President Bush, he has skeletons (recall the 2000 election fiasco of his DUI fifteen years ago). Ask Robert Bork, Teddy Kennedy or any major politician: they have skeletons. Ask me: I have skeletons. Ask anyone: they have skeletons too.
We throw them into the closet and conveniently lose the key, hoping that no one finds them. We live our lives eagerly hoping that nothing will come up to bring the dead to life. Or at least we pray that the closet door stays closed.
What seems oddest is that we try to hide so many facets of our lives. We hide our personal lives from co-workers. We shield friends from other friends. And we certainly limit our Sunday morning conversations.
And at the end of the day, our best efforts to preclude people from seeing into our lives rarely work. We see through the facades of life and into the recesses of the soul. This seemingly happens on a day-to-day basis. We clamor about how no one really know us, but it’s very likely that they do. It’s likely that they describe you better than yourself; and it’s likely that you are the one who is being deceived.
And worst of all is that you deceive yourself. And you keep hiding those skeletons, even though your closet has a glass door.

It will never cease to amaze me how fragile life is. One minute you’re here…the next you’re not. There is no fan-fare, no symphony gloriously proclaiming your exit. In a split second, you breathe your last breath. And to dust you return.
What do you do when you have six months left? When the doctors tell you that your condition has worsened, and that medicine cannot save you? Do you weep that your time on earth will soon be over? Do you question your existence? Do you wonder what you have done, and what impact you have made on the world? Do you travel the world and do things you always dreamed of? Do you spend time with friends and family, sharing every last waking moment enjoying them? Do you pray that your time is less than what the doctors say?
What do you do?
It seems like it would be easier to pass quietly in the night. Sometimes it’s easier to deal with the spontanaeity than with a known exit.
What would I do? I would pray for healing. I don’t see any indication that God won’t heal people now–that job certainly isn’t limited to doctors. I would pray for God’s glory to be shown. The things we feel are the worst never really are. Sure, they’re hard and they suck. But think of the three-year-old: a boy wants to eat chocolate before dinner, but inevitably his mom will catch him and tell him it’s not good for him. Cookies will only make him sick and will keep him from growing. The boy thinks it’s terrible and unfair. The mom knows it’s best.
God knows what’s best for us, even if we think he’s wrong.
I would also pray for family and friends. Once you’re gone–you have no worries and no pain. They are the ones who have to endure your exit. And lastly, pray for the remaining time. Tie up the loose ends. Tell your wife and kids that you love them. Say you’re sorry for the things you did that hurt people. (and mean it). And know that the Lord is faithful and just; this is just the next step in life.
Of course, I’m standing from a distance thinking about this; I don’t actually have to endure the pain of experiencing this first-hand—yet. It’s easy (or easier) for me to write these things being removed from reality…but as I think about it, this is exactly the kind of reaction that I hope I have when I am in a similar situation.