Nearly 3500 years ago, the Israelites huddled in their homes awaiting the angel of death to pass them by untouched because they had the blood of the lamb smeared on their doorposts. While next morning the house of Egypt mourned the death in the night of every firstborn son, it marked the day of new life and new beginnings for the Israelites. They passed from 400 years of slavery, to freedom, departing on the next journey to the Promised Land, led by the One True God, who showed His faithfulness over and over again.
Two years ago, God was getting ready to take Bill by the hand, and lead him into the Promised Land. The blood of the Lamb had already been shed, the atonement had been paid, his safe passage through the valley of the shadow of death guaranteed.
It wasn’t until the morning before that I conceded it really might be his time to go. We had always embraced life with both hands. We'd seen our share of miracles, and knew nothing was impossible for God. We had raised our glass “To Whatever Comes Next” from the moment we met and fell in love. But for us both the real adventure always lay beyond this earthly dimension, and the next journey with God one we both anticipated with joy. “I’m ready to go, but I’m still having so much fun here!” Bill often said.
That last night all our close friends gathered in his hospital room, and we shared stories and toasted Bill’s life with champagne in that inimitable toast, “Here’s to Whatever Comes Next!” It’s always good. About to get better beyond belief. When 5:00am on that morning of March 30 ticked by, I was on my knees beside his bed, praying the 23rd Psalm. First out loud, and then silently. I have to admit to being totally intrigued at what happens at the moment a person dies and leaves this earthly life. I had already told Bill “If God calls your name, it’s ok. You go.” How could I ever hold up my wonderful free-spirited sweetheart? There was no way. As I prayed silently “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the House of the Lord forever,” he breathed his last, and I handed him over to God. Simple as that. Now that’s assurance. There is not a shadow of doubt that Bill moved straight into the presence of God. Jesus was his friend, his confidant, his saviour. Arms outstretched. Grace extended to cover it all. We don’t have to be perfect. Just forgiven and redeemed.
I often see Bill, with my spirit eyes. Tumbling and laughing in exuberant joy. I catch glimpses of his irrepressible life in the moonbeams, and the stars on a clear velvet night. Just like I feel God’s breath on a warm summer’s evening, or hear His voice in the birdsong in the early morning, see His beauty in the dewdrops, or the flash of a butterfly’s wing. When I fall on my knees before my Creator every morning, I am always awed at the wonder of His creation, and the tenderness of His love. So very grateful for the love Bill and I shared, a foretaste of what is to come when I too step into the presence of my Lord and my God.
Life has always been filled with hope and promise. Don’t let anyone tell you different! Look deep into your heart, and you will find you too have a song yet waiting to be sung, dreams waiting to be fulfilled, and a divine destiny that God has planned for you. A butterfly emerges from a chrysalis, transforming from a mere earthbound caterpillar into a beautiful creature on wings of flight. How much more splendid is our destiny – we, who are created in God’s image!
As a tribute to the love of my life, I am adding a few favorite pictures that truly capture the essence of Bill. To all who have known and loved him – you are already blessed! Treasure every moment of life. Embrace the spiritual journey. Perhaps you too will see the shooting stars, the moonbeams shining softly on your pillow, and feel the warmth and tenderness of love in your heart.
Amazing that once again the clouds have cleared tonight, the full moon has risen, and as I am transported back to that night two years ago, I also find myself slipping from one past moment to another. 
That first night under the windsock locked in a passionate embrace; sailing on a moonlit lake, caressed by a warm breeze; tiki torches flaring in a tropical night, surf crashing on the distant reef; the Hungarian maestro cradling his violin, eyes closed in his wizened gypsy face, as the haunting strains of "Fascination" echoed the story of our love.
Shooting stars and shark's teeth at midnight on the day we scattered Bill's ashes at sea. Sweet memories of life and love.
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