Death is an interesting thing. Its finality stuns us in a way that words cannot describe. We ask, “What do you mean I can never hear his voice, or hug him, or even make eye contact with him again?” It feels like the room in our heart where this loved one resides will remain empty as long as we are on this side of heaven, no matter how many condolences are offered; it is not a room that can be leased to a new owner because each loved one has his or her own room.

It makes all other thoughts, goals, regrets, and priorities come to a screeching halt, because now we are reminded that we are temporary. That we are not promised a next breath. That those we love the most might not be a part of our next moment. Suddenly all wrongs are forgiven, all anger is pushed aside, and all we can feel is a painful craving for that person’s presence, words, laughter. To hear them say, just one more time, anything. That they love us. That they forgive us. That they are proud of us. That they’ll always be here.

Death feels so wrong because it is. We were not originally created for death; it is a result of the Fall. It is one of those ugly reminders of our brokenness and our literal need for a source of eternal life outside of ourselves. We have a perpetual thirst for the Fountain of Living Water.

The first time I experienced death was when I was in elementary school and my daddy’s dad passed away. I’ll never forget sitting inside that cold, quiet church. I didn’t understand, but, oh, I wept. I cried and cried and cried. I was the first to cry, and the service had not yet begun. My little girl sobs echoed throughout the still building. I refused any tissues, as I do to this day, so my tears dripped onto my dress, covered my lap. My sweet daddy tried to comfort me, but I didn’t understand why everyone else was not crying, too.

After the service finally started and the preacher began his speech, the others allowed themselves to cry. My little mind wondered, is there an appropriate time to cry? Should I suppress my emotion and only feel deep pain in private? But I answered no to both of those questions, so now when I hurt, I cry. Crying is a reminder of our brokenness and need for a Comforter. I don’t mind.

At the time, resurrection power had not yet been explained to me. At the end of the service, though, when you walk by the dead corpse for your last look, I was terrified. People kept touching Pappaw’s body. But deep inside I had this tremor-inducing fear that if I touched his body, he would come back to life. I kept my hands firmly by my side.

I felt the same fear many years later when my birth mom’s mom passed away. An adult at the end of my first teaching job, I stood in the freezing, polished room at the funeral home while my mom applied makeup to my Meme’s lifeless face. I kept looking, looking away, looking, looking away. Was her chest moving? No, the air was blowing on her shirt. It just felt wrong.

It has to be this way, for now. It’s wrong because we are spiritual beings with spiritual bodies. Thanks to sin, we have to walk this life in tents, striving to daily crucify our flesh and walk in obedience to our loving Father until, at long last, we stand before our perfect Savior. Because we trust in Him and let Him take His rightful place as Lord and Savior, our last breath on this earth will be the beginning of something beautiful.

But for every person we leave behind, we will be leaving a vacant room. Over time distance will grow, but our rooms will still be empty. Those living loved ones might try to make our rooms seem smaller by filling them with fond memories. But memories cannot replace the desire for connection. Or, re-connection.

I’m so thankful for eternal life, for more than one reason. Re-connection is one of them.

What can we do with those empty rooms in our hearts? The best thing we can do is give them to Jesus. Ask Holy Spirit to comfort us. Remind ourselves that Jesus took the sting from death, so this separation is only temporary. Worship the Father because He is good.

That promise of eternal life doesn’t decrease in value when we lose a loved one; it increases in value. I would say God’s goodness increases, but it doesn’t. He always has been and always will be perfectly good. Sometimes we just need an adjustment to our vision so we can see Him rightly.

God is so good.

He hand-crafted us, breathed life into us, invited us to live in dominion over His creation, loved us fully, told us nothing but truth, and what did we do in response? We, in Eden, looked at all that He had done and said in the pride of our hearts, “Creator, Father, God, I don’t trust You. I don’t believe Your ways are best. I am going to be my own lord.”

So now we die. The wages of sin is death.

Now we are broken. Now we lie, steal, cheat, are selfish, self-seeking. We are lost, hopeless, wandering, trying to fill up the biggest empty room that our first Love made in our hearts for Himself. We are hurt, hurting one another. Worshiping anything that seems good in our own eyes. Trying to find the answer to that void, the source of that feeling that never goes away inside that says, “I was made for something. I was made for something.”

And Love Himself. What did He do? God looked at us and said, “I love you. I won’t settle for this distance you’ve put between Me and you. I will bridge the gap between us, so I can be reunited with you, My child. Here – take My Son. He will live a sinless life. He will show you My heart, since you have all forgotten who I really am. He will be Love Incarnate. And after He lives perfectly, heals the sick, raises the dead, forgives sins, and loves with every breath, you will kill Him. You will beat Him so that His body is broken and His blood is poured out. You will nail Him to a cross, mock Him. You will slander Him. And when His life leaves His body, the veil between you and Me will be torn forever, so that, by His blood, you can have full communion with Me again. You will be able to enter into that relationship you were made for. That’s what I made you for, that’s the something you were made for that you keep asking about. That ingrained purpose inside you is Me. You were made by Me and for Me.”

We know that it doesn’t end there. Our Creator, Father, God, through the Holy Spirit, raised Jesus back to life. Once again, He walked among us. And then He returned to the Father, but He left us His Spirit. And we can be filled with His Spirit, our reminder and guarantee that this life, these present sufferings, it’s all temporary. That re-connection is coming.

So we take up our cross and say, through clenched teeth and with tears streaming down our faces, “Jesus, I repent! I am sorry! I do not know best, and I cannot be lord of my life. Would You, precious Savior, be my Lord? Would You guide me to live the life our Father made me for?”

And not only does He say YES, but He also says, “I will fill you with My Spirit to empower you to do these things.”

God is so good.

So day by day, for those of us who have had these conversations, we remember that Jesus got our sin and we get His righteousness. And we walk in gratitude. We ask our Creator, Father, God, to help us decrease so He can increase. And He guides us moment by moment from faith to faith, strength to strength, glory to glory. Our capacity for His fullness increases. And He starts filling up that room in our hearts that was made only for Him.

His room, though, is the throne room.