I sat with John today.
He is struggling to breathe. Fluid has built up on his lungs. He works to live.
We take breathing for granted. Each breath is called a respiration. We have many during a minute’s time. In the usual hour, most of us glance at a beautiful sunset, remain focused while driving, or force ourselves to relax. Seldom do we have to remain mentally alert, focusing ourselves to breathe.
But, when someone is asthmatic, or has a cold or fluid on the lungs they work. And work hard. What would normally be focused on the events of the day is now consumed with one event — the next breath. When your breath is more laboured than usual, panic sets in. You drown in your attempts to breathe. The implored statement from panicked onlookers — "breathe" — would be heeded if somewhere in the depths of your soul you could pull back from the precipice just long enough to put your feet on solid ground.
Those who have been around death know the stutter breathing of the last moments. That final sign that the precipice is winning. Then there is peace.
At that point, for Christians, the statement — "for me to live is Christ and to die is gain" — becomes a reality. Thank God for another realm, whose depths we can barely understand in this restless, transitory and panting earth!