4 years old, almost 5; that’s how old I was when my dad died. 

My world shattered when my dad died on April 15th, and then just 2 short weeks later, I was celebrating my birthday on April 29th. And, every year it’s the same. Remember dad’s death, celebrate my life. It’s not an ideal placement to say the least. Death and life, pain and joy, so intimately connected. 

Every year, my April is always filled with a strange mix of emotions. Kind of like the month itself, I feel split in two. Half sunny, warm, and joyful; half rainy, dreary, and somber. During the month of April, flowers and plants want to break through winter’s grip, but there’s this tension. We’ve all felt it. One day you’re outside, sunglasses on, the next you’re inside avoiding the cold, Spring rain. That’s how I feel on the inside every year during the month of April. I vacillate between joy and sadness. Do I lament and grieve, or do I celebrate and laugh? For the longest time I viewed this tension negatively. But, the strange truth is that this tension isn’t negative. This tension is what produces real growth. The same way the earth needs sunny days to warm the ground and rainy days to germinate the seeds of life; so our souls need the tension of death and life to grow. A life lived avoiding the tension of death and life, is not a life worth living. 

“Memento Mori,” is a latin phrase translated, “remember you must die,” and it was a primary principle of Stoic philosophy. Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, and Socrates all taught about it. Death actually helps you live. The modern translation would be something like YOLO, you only live once. Life is precious, and death helps you remember that. It seems counterintuitive, but to truly live you must remember that you will die. 

Memento Mori was co-opted and expanded on by Christian’s. After all, Jesus asked his followers to die daily in order that they might live, and the apostle James said humans are like a puff of smoke/mist, “that appears for a little then vanishes (James 4:14).” Early theologians used to teach the importance of remembering our own mortality (death) in order to give our life purpose. Life is fleeting, so live for God and with God. Ancient monks put skulls on their desks to remind themselves about this truth. The French painter, Philippe de Champaigne depicted the tradition of “looking into the eyes of a skull”  in his painting Vanitus. On a desk sits a tulip in a vase, a skull, and an hourglass. Our days are numbered, we live and we die, there is beauty and darkness. And, this tension between life and death is biblical. Wisdom literature loves this concept. David, in Psalm 39, puts it this way:

3 I felt a fire burning inside,
    and the more I thought,
the more it burned,
    until at last I said:

4 “Please, Lord,
show me my future.
    Will I soon be gone?

5 You made my life short,
so brief that the time
    means nothing to you.

“Human life is but a breath,

6 and it disappears
    like a shadow.

The whole book of Ecclesiastes can be summarized as “you will die one day, live for God not yourself.” Life pursued for yourself is a life lived in vain. Life lived for God and others is a life lived with meaning. So death, somehow, helps humans truly live. 

Accepting that we will die someday and actually thinking about it is an important part of life. It is the dreary, spring rain that helps our life grow. John Mark Comer in his book Practicing the Way said it like this: “You will eventually die…and when that day comes and your friends and family stand around your grave, what will matter most is who you became. (pg. 68)” Thinking about death is important, because it makes you judge your life and who you’re becoming. 

Remembering you’re going to die is kind of like a mirror for your soul. And, looking in the mirror is not always fun. 

Last year was one of the hardest, yet most transformative, years I’ve ever experienced. Last April, when my dad’s death came around, it kicked off an intense season of change, of “looking in the mirror.” Last April was dreary. I was missing my dad so much. Filled with anger, pain, and intense sorrow. I felt lost. I felt like I was failing in life, specifically as a dad. I was overwhelmed with guilt and shame that I was not the father to my boys that my dad was to me. I even had the brief thought, “Would my boys be better off without me?” (not suicidal, just as a thought experiment, because I grew up without a dad.)

All that to say, I did not like the man I was becoming. I was overweight. I was struggling with outbursts of anger. I felt sad and was extremely homesick. 

And all of my life, I loved playing the pity card when I would feel like this. “I’m experiencing fill in the blank because my dad died. I’m like fill in the blank because I didn’t have my dad. If I had my dad, I’d be better. If I had my dad, I’d be more emotionally and physically healthy.” The list of excuses goes on. 

But, I had a realization last year.

It’s easy to blame your personal issues on a legitimate hurt or pain (I’m not saying hurt doesn’t play a part at all). It is much harder to own your issues, take responsibility for them and deal with them. It was easier to blame my problems on my dad’s death. I avoided looking in the mirror and owning the issues in my life. My mindset shifted and I realized remembering my dad’s death should cause me to contemplate my own death (mortality). 

I remembered that I’m going to die someday. I don’t know when or how, but I will die. Memento Mori. And, it really does matter who I’m becoming. It matters to me, my wife, my kids, and my friends. My life matters; who I’m becoming matters. I should be a good man, husband, father, and friend.

And, so I tried to change the things I didn’t like. But, the more I looked at myself in the mirror, and said “I don’t like that. Let’s change that” The more I realized, I couldn’t change. I would try and fail. And, so I felt more angry, more stuck, more frustrated. Every day felt dreary, like nonstop April showers.

I still wasn’t becoming who I wanted to be. Then it dawned on me, you become what you look at. So if I’m only looking at myself, my faults, my failures, my successes, I will just stay myself. I won’t actually grow. 

So I looked to Jesus and said “do your work.” Seeing my death made me realize I needed His life. He is the Spring sunshine so to speak, the eternal light (John 8:12). If I look at Jesus daily, and focus on his beauty, his love, and his grace, I will change. I will also reflect his mercy, his truth, and his faithfulness. By the power of his Spirit, I will become like him.

I really do want that more than anything. I want to live life with Jesus. I want to become like him. And, I’ve seen real changes over this past year. Yet sometimes, I still forget Jesus, and let the busyness of life take over. I examine myself and consider my failures and successes. That’s when I reflect on “my skull/my mortality,” so to speak. My death needs to push me back into Jesus’ life over and over again. If I don’t have the light of Christ in my life, I will not and cannot grow.

I cannot save myself. I am not enough. But, Jesus is.

And, so now I’m sitting in a coffee shop remembering my Dad’s death. I’m thinking about my future death; I’m thinking about the man, husband, father and friend I am; and I’m thinking about the person I’m becoming. Sometimes, the weight of life and death feels like a cold, dreary April day. But as I’m writing these words, the sun just broke through the clouds, and now I’m smiling and thinking about Jesus’ grace. I guess that’s the whole point of death and life, winter and spring, rain and sunshine. It makes things grow. God wants me to keep growing.

Will I?