For the last 25 years, Karla and I have been paying $125 a quarter for a term life insurance policy. $125 every three months without fail. We thought the policy expired when I turned 63. But now, maybe, because, ahem, there’s a little more “snow on my roof;” probably a brain hemorrhage didn’t help; or maybe preacher’s years are like “dog years” and by that standard I’m nearly Methuselah’s age; our insurance provider says that on March 27, my policy is increasing to $750 a quarter. Unless your first name is Elon, that’s a rather significant increase. $750 bucks? No way. We made the decision that on March 27, 2023, we will no longer carry that insurance policy. 

Why tell you my insurance woes?  Consider this my own written 25 day insurance policy.
Should something mysterious happen to me in the next 25 days…
Should I keel over while taking a leisurely stroll… 
Should I slip on a banana peel… 
Should I meet up Professor Plum wielding a candlestick in the Conservatory …. 
Should I get a chicken bone stuck in my throat at the next church potluck….  

Please call the police. Something untoward may be afoot. I’m not saying that Karla would slip me a “Mickey,” but she didn’t look too sad when I had a recent nasty cough. She might be thinking, he’s looking sickly anyway… so…. Hmmm…

I’m pretty sure Karla wouldn’t knock me off for an insurance claim. I’m pretty sure… OK. OK. I’m kidding about all of this– except our policy is ending on March 26. That part is true. We purchased the policy when our kids were young. We didn’t want Karla to be terribly shaken financially should I meet with an early demise. It provided a bit of reassurance.

We’ve been having much more serious conversations these days concerning death and dying. That happens when the one sleeping the next room over is in hospice care and uncertain if she will be here on March 27. As many of you know, as Lisa Faulkner’s cancer progressed to the point she shouldn’t have been alone, she came to live with Karla and me. Now Lisa is in her final days or weeks on this planet. Death is becoming more real. Death is no joke. 

Lisa knows her relationship with Jesus is rock solid. She has a blessed assurance that no insurance policy could provide. She isn’t afraid of dying. But that doesn’t make these days easy. She doesn’t want to suffer. Her capabilities are changing. She’s unsteady. She doesn’t always think clearly. She’s not her bubbly self. There are other complications. Death isn’t for sissies.

When traveling through these difficult days, it’s not all dark. The Lord faithfully shines His light in the dark corridors of life to remind us of his loving presence. It’s knowing what the Psalmist knew: Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Psalm 73:25-26

The journey toward death is hard. Yet even as our flesh and heart fail, God is our strength. That means in our weaknesses, His strength carries us. God is our portion. That means everything we need for today, He provides. The Psalmist knew the key – while on earth, there is nothing to desire but Him; and once in heaven, there will be nothing but to glory in Him (no cancer and no need for $750 insurance policies either).