I tended to a pastoral call with a gentleman the other day (we’ll call him Jack) who is standing on the threshold of death. He shared fond memories of relationships past and present, “It just doesn’t seem like enough time,” he said, with a lingering and painful tone.

Jack had questions about ‘heaven’ and what might happen next. I encouraged him to view this experience less as his final moments and more as the transition to the next stage of his life. I shared how every life stage carries with it a sense of hope and expectation alongside the experience of pain and loss that naturally accompanies our progression from one stage to the next.

For instance, in reflecting back on the transition out of my parent’s home into full-fledged adulthood, I find that it came with an excited anticipation for newfound freedom and possibility, though with poignancy, in closing the door on my childhood and the loss of being in close proximity to my parents on a daily basis. Throughout my teen years, I looked forward to this moment with expectancy but now that it was here, there was a finality to it. A realization that I could never go back. That I would never walk through their door in the same way. At the same time, moving on was necessary for my personal growth and progression into more mature experiences of life.

Scripture gives us good reason to believe that this life is not all we have. This reality provides hope, a confident assurance that bears us up through every stage of our journey. Just as a child can’t fathom the depth of experiences that will open up to them as they mature into adulthood, so it is difficult to comprehend what life will be like as we mature into this new and final stage of life.

Throughout our conversation, several times Jack mentioned the desire to “tie up loose ends” and “reconcile” with folks from his past. Whenever I’d prod a bit Jack would move on to an endearing story of family or friendship, though later circling back to his need to “make things right” with folks from his past. There is no question that unresolved issues weighed heavily on Jack as he nears his final breath in this world.

This experience with Jack was a sobering reminder of the importance of keeping short accounts with those we cross paths with. In a way, Jack’s acute awareness of his imminent death is a blessing, in that it presents the urgency to set one’s house in order and make amends with those you’ve hurt or been hurt by. Then again, in contemplating this I realize that we all have the power to do this every day. The hard reality is that death is an imminent possibility for us all. Living each day as if it were our last may not free us up to do whatever we want without repercussion, but it can lead us to live freely, leaving us with as little unresolved conflict as possible.

I shared some of these thoughts with my kids this morning. With it, I shared why it is important for us to ‘make things right’ with one another whenever things have gone sideways. That, while there will be moments where we fight or wrong one another in some way, it is important for us to pursue confession, forgiveness, and reconciliation sooner rather than later. I brought it home in sharing about the weeks leading up to my mom’s death nearly twenty-two years ago.

My mom suffered from depression and bipolar disorder. My brother, Ryan, and I were in the Navy at the time and had just returned from deployment and we’re staying with my mom while on leave. Having recently separated from my stepdad, we knew that she was going through an especially difficult time. One night, out of nowhere, my mom went off on Ryan and me, telling us that she hated us and proceeded to throw our bags out of the house, telling us she never wanted to see us again. Sadly, this wasn’t our first experience of our mom like this. We both contemplated leaving her in our rearview and heading back to San Diego. Instead, we walked back into the house where my mom was sitting, sobbing on the couch. We surrounded her with hugs and affirmed our love for her. She apologized and we moved on.

My brother returned to San Diego to report for duty while I remained with my mom for another week of leave. I was twenty years old and (don’t laugh) for a number of reasons I hadn’t gotten my driver’s license yet. I’d saved money on deployment to buy a truck, so my mom took me for my license exam. The last real memory I have of her is walking out of the DMV and seeing pure joy on her face when I showed her that I passed the test. I bought my truck that same day, then two days later headed back to San Diego. The next morning my brother and I received a visit from the chaplain to tell us that my mom had died earlier that morning. I’m forever thankful that we had the opportunity to reconcile before my mom passed beyond veil of this world and, even more, that my final memory was a joyous one.

We cannot go back and undo what has already been done. But we can move forward into confession and mercy, forgiveness and reconciliation, freedom and healing. We may not have advanced notice for putting our house in order but there is nothing preventing us from doing it today. There is nothing keeping us from living like there is no tomorrow.