Death sometimes arrives with zero forewarning,
Shows up on your doorstep without invitation--
Sometimes with bags, to stay for a while,
Sometimes with a box to carry you away.
That happened, yesterday, to you, Friend.
There you were, on your merry way,
Minding your own business, embracing Life itself,
Looking forward to time spent with family...
And it came, then, awful Death, beating on your door,
Welcomed or not, making its entrance into your world.
It seized your presence of mind, threw you to the floor,
Rattled your vision and tore apart every filament of your existence.
I can't imagine what biology did then--did it respond?
On a cellular level, did you fight Death's advance?
Had you the strength to combat its fiery darts
And resist its all-too-sudden full-scale attack?
This Unwelcome Visitor no doubt thought it had defeated you;
There you were, frail human, lying in a pool of your own blood,
Facedown, the portrait of mankind succumbing to the inevitable.
"I am the Powerful One," Death laughed and scorned.
But someone had forgotten to tell Death about you.
While Death cheered its seemingly easy victory,
Watched your body reel and cripple at its merciless attack,
Something else was rising up in you, standing strong in you,
The most intrinsic part of you: your very Soul.
One thing The Unwelcome Visitor had failed to realize, yet again,
Is that we are more than our mere molecular construction.
What this Death could not comprehend was what was happening
On the inside of you, the Real You, the Redeemed You:
Shaking off the numbness, the sharp pains and the confusion,
The Soul within you cried out as it had never done before:
"Freeeeeedom!" It sang, repeated, as it stretched upward, for once,
To its full height--ten times taller than any human that ever lived.
Death faltered, for the first time since he had embarked
On this miserable mission: he sputtered, he twisted, he frowned.
"What is this?" he spat to the shadows that surrounded him,
"This thing," he coughed, "This thing is not human."
"Not anymore," rang a voice that at once shook the foundation of Death.
"You have just freed a Child of God!" Angels appeared, then,
An army surrounding you. You stood among them, tall and strong.
"This one is Mine," said the One whose voice sounded like many waters.
There was no mistaking that Voice. There was no mistaking that Authority.
Death fell face down to the ground, smelling the blood that was not yours.
It was Jesus. The Redeemer. The One they called the Lamb.
And He had come at once for you--because you belong to Him.
Oh, the futility of Death to a Child of the Most High God!
Oh, the wonder all of darkness must have at the Reality of Redemption!
Death could not overcome Him--and it could not overcome you.
You, my Friend, were and are and always will be His.
"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"
I Corinthians 15:55
--Written October 7, 2015, in honor of Grandpa Ray Yandell
