“A time to be born and a time to die”

One dear lady gasped in horror when I said,

In writing your memoir, teach your readers how to live,

but do more than that: Teach them how to die.

I was leading a memoir class and the lady apparently thought I meant we should teach readers how to commit suicide. No, no, no! That’s not what I meant!

I was thinking along these lines:

“There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die. . . .”

(Ecclesiastes 3:1-2)

In retrospect I should have said:

Write stories that show readers how to live well and,

when their time comes, how to die well.

Most of us feel uncomfortable discussing dying and death. Diana Trautwein writes of the “sinking queasiness, this revelation and recognition that death is an unavoidable part of life. . . .”

In her blog post, Reflections of Mortality and Holy Week, Diana addresses the fact that “death happens everywhere. We are surrounded by it, entangled by it,” yet “we cover it up, tuck it away, move it aside.”

Yes, the experiences of death and dying remain elusive and mysterious and can be scary, especially for young people, so let’s explore the topic in our memoirs—for the benefit of both ourselves and our readers.

The following, by Max Lucado, will stir up new considerations for you:

“You, as all God’s children, live one final breath from your own funeral. Which, from God’s perspective, is nothing to grieve. He responds to these grave facts with this news: ‘The day you die is better than the day you were born’ (Ecclesiastes 7:1). 

“Now there is a twist. Heaven enjoys a maternity-ward reaction to funerals. Angels watch body burials the same way grandparents monitor delivery-room doors. ‘He’ll be coming through any minute!’ They can’t wait to see their new arrival. While we’re driving hearses and wearing black, they’re hanging pink and blue streamers and passing out cigars. . . .” (Max Lucado, “When Death Becomes Birth,” from Come Thirsty)

If you’re not afraid to die, write a vignette explaining why.

“ . . . Someday God will wipe away your tears. The same hands that stretched the heavens will touch your cheeks. The same hands that formed the mountains will caress your face. . . .” (Max Lucado, The Applause of Heaven)

At the end of your time on earth, what will it be like to stand before God face to face, one on one?

Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 13:12, “Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”

For years I’ve asked myself, “What will it be like, face to face with God, the Almighty, the Creator, knowing Him fully even as He knows me?”

I envision the scene: I am surrounded by His blinding-brilliant glory—and I am speechless.

I imagine I’ll fall on my face, sobbing in worship and wonder and gratitude.

What about you? What do you envision?

What stories can you write 

to help readers ponder life and death 

and God and heaven? 

What stories will show readers how to live well and, 

when their time on earth draws to an end, 

how to die well?

Get real

“Only when you break down your usual way of thinking—the convenient, comfortable, easy, polite response—will you touch the textured grain of your life,” writes Natalie Goldberg.

“Submerge yourself below the standard version of the way your mother, father, school want you to remember your childhood to the way it really was for you,” she says. “If you were miserable, say it. If you hated peas and those white cardboard containers of milk, put that down.…”

Goldberg calls you, the memoir writer, to authenticity, to give yourself permission for “the disintegration of the not-true world you tried to maintain.”

Doing so can refine of the truth, upgrade the truth, hone the truth—not just for your readers but for yourself.

Each of us wrestles with distorted views of reality, sometimes because we choose to do so and sometimes because we are mere humans. This side of heaven, “What we see now is like a dim image in a mirror.”  “We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist.” (1 Corinthians 13:12, Good News Translation, The Message)

Do your best, nevertheless, to strive for what’s true and right. 

“Maybe you’ll find,” continues Goldberg, “that you were wonderful after all but [for all those years you had] believed your brother’s image of you instead. You weren’t a dummy for loving Shakespeare and Keats. You were just different.”

Energetic, passionate, and considered by many to be a master, Goldberg is a mentor and a cheerleader to all who want to write a memoir. She says, “It’s odd how we’re are supposed to be cool, smooth as butter, act as though there is no place in which we weren’t accepted or hurt. How ridiculous. This is a tough world. This is your memoir. Get real about your life.” (from Old Friend from Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir; emphasis mine) 

Look over your vignettes. Question your assumptions. Search for places you wrote what you felt obligated to write—for whatever reason.

Straighten up distortions, first in your thinking and then in your writing. Revise and polish your story to make it more authentic.

Doing so will benefit you and your readers more than you might imagine. The truth has a way of setting us all free.

“A time to be born and a time to die”

One dear lady gasped in horror when I said,

In writing your stories, teach your readers how to live,

but do more than that: Teach them how to die.

I was teaching a memoir class at the New Tribes Missions’ training center and apparently she thought I meant we should teach our readers how to commit suicide. No, no, no! That’s not what I meant!

I was thinking more along the lines of: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die…” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2).

Maybe I should have said:

Write stories that show readers how to live well and,

when their time comes, how to die well.

Most of us feel uncomfortable discussing dying and death. Diana Trautwein writes of the “sinking queasiness, this revelation and recognition that death is an unavoidable part of life.…” 

In her blog post, Reflections on Mortality and Holy Week, Diana addresses the fact that “death happens everywhere. We are surrounded by it, entangled by it,” yet “we cover it up, tuck it away, move it aside.” 

Yes, the experience of dying and death remains elusive and mysterious and can be scary for all of us, especially for young people, so perhaps we should explore those topics in our memoirs—for the benefit of both ourselves and our readers.

This will stir up some thoughts:

“You, as all God’s children, live one final breath from your own funeral. Which, from God’s perspective, is nothing to grieve. He responds to these grave facts with this great news: ‘The day you die is better than the day you are born’ (Ecclesiastes 7:1). Now there is a twist. Heaven enjoys a maternity-ward reaction to funerals. Angels watch body burials the same way grandparents monitor delivery-room doors. ‘He’ll be coming through any minute!’ They can’t wait to see the new arrival. While we’re driving hearses and wearing black, they’re hanging pink and blue streamers and passing out cigars….” (“When Death Becomes Birth,” from Come Thirsty by Max Lucado)

If you’re not afraid to die, write a vignette explaining why.

What do you think heaven will be like?

“…Someday God will wipe away your tears. The same hands that stretched the heavens will touch your cheeks. The same hands that formed the mountains will caress your face. The same hands that curled in agony as the Roman spike cut through will someday cup your face and brush away your tears. Forever.” (Max Lucado, The Applause of Heaven; also see Revelation 21)

At the end of your time on earth, what will it be like to stand before God face to face, one on one?

The lyrics of I Can Only Imagine (MercyMe) ponder that question.

“I can only imagine what my eyes will see when Your face is before me.…

Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel…?

Will I dance for You…?

Will I stand in Your presence, or to my knees will I fall?

Will I sing hallelujah?

Will I be able to speak at all?

I can only imagine.…”

Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 13:12, “Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”

For years I’ve asked myself, “What will it be like, face to face with God, the Almighty, the Creator, knowing Him fully even as He knows me?”

I envision the scene: I am surrounded by His blinding-brilliant glory, and I am speechless.

I imagine I’ll fall on my face, sobbing in worship and wonder and gratitude.

What about you? What do you envision?

What stories can you write to help your readers ponder life and death and God and heaven? What stories will show readers how to live well and, when their time on earth draws to an end, how to die well?