A close family friend passed away unexpectedly this week. 

When I say, “a close friend of the family”, I mean someone who’s next of kin, is us – our tribe.  The kind of family friend who comes to every family celebration and more – 4^th of July, Easter, Thanksgiving, Memorial Day, Labor Day, Christmas morning, family members’ birthdays, my own surprise party.  The kind of close family friend we save a seat for at church every Sunday.  The kind of family friend that when we say we make up a tribe of 19 people, he’s included in that count.  

He makes 18, 19. 

His death was completely unexpected.  So much so that nearly all of us have said in reflection, “He was just here.  I was just talking to him.  He was right here at this table.”  Personally, I had to ask several times for confirmation of the news.  “Are you sure?”  “Did someone confirm it?”  “Did the EMTs really check?”  “Are we sure?” 

It was that kind of unexpected. 

When unexpected death happens, it’s natural to think about what this all means.  Why we’re here, what we’re doing, how we’re spending our time.  Does it matter?  Is it worthwhile?  What kind of legacy do I leave behind? 

The truth is, that one second we’re here, and the next we’re not; and no one knows when the clock is going to run out.  All of the sudden your mail is piling up outside an unkept mailbox.  The food in your fridge is spoiling.  The TV perpetually spews its news to an empty room because no one thinks to click it off before they die. 

Those followers haven’t achieved anything for you. 

Those likes didn’t fill your soul. 

The division over that issue remains. 

That relationship is still unrepaired. 

That apology is unsaid.

That sentiment you felt (be it love, betrayal, hurt, gratitude, appreciation, forgiveness), that you thought about sharing with her, or with him, or with them – it’s going to live forever without a voice. 

There’s a lot to reflect on with death. 

It’s natural, it’s unavoidable, and it’s coming for all of us. 

I’ve thought a lot about the concept of legacy this week, and as only God would have it, I’ve been reading Donald Miller’s newest release Hero on a Mission.  Although I’ve appreciated all his books, this one reflects his evolution over the years, not only as a writer, but as a human (if I may say so from a meek reader’s perspective). 

Donald Miller is a tremendous storyteller, and this book is no detour from that fact, but in this one, readers are taken on a much grander journey than a hike up a mountain or a bike ride across the country.  This book leads readers into the recesses of their own souls – much greater terrain! – and asks them to look inward, identify how they’re living, invites them to choose something (anything) meaningful to pursue, and offers practical steps for how to be doing it every day.  In this book Donald Miller invites you to write your own eulogy and use it as a narrative guide for how your daily choices will be informed. 

I don’t think it’s mine to guess what our close family friend intended his legacy to be.  I can offer my own perception into his legacy, but only he could create or state his mission.  What is mine; however, is to make my own legacy crystal clear.  Not just to me, but to everyone with whom I interact. 

And yours is there for you to do the same. 

The mass of practical resources offered to help you identify and pursue your legacy are inside Donald Miller’s book, Hero on a Mission.  What will become very clear to you in consuming this information is that legacy is not something that is created the day you depart from this world. 

It’s created every day you live leading up to your departure. 

Recently someone I know had to make a really hard choice at work.  It was a decision of whether or not to leave the current company for a different one, and after a lot of consideration, prayer, and mentoring, a choice was made. 

The choice was for the less lucrative option.  It was for more family time, a better work-life balance, more holistic health, and what felt like the leading from the Spirit. 

It was not the logical decision.  It was not the decision that would springboard a career into something greater.  It was not the decision most people would have made. 

And you know what?  Things got hard. 

Dynamics are harder.  Finances are harder.  Work relationships are harder.  Day-to-day life in the job is harder. 

Have you experienced this?  You pray and toil over a decision and you make the sacrifice and do the hard thing, and when you do, it feels like things get exponentially more difficult.  You start to question your leading, your understanding, you start to question your ability to discern.  Did I make the right choice?  What’s going to happen now?  Did I miss a huge opportunity?  Did I make a choice that will cause my family to suffer? 

When I was discussing the situation with this person, we came upon something profound. 

We already know our destination.  The conclusion has already been finalized.  The victor has already been chosen.  The movie has already ended. 

The guy got the girl.

Rocky won the fight.

The treasure was won.

The people were saved. 

The Death Star was destroyed. 

We already know how this all finishes and yet we live yearning for the next big thing.  That raise that will make things better.  That move to where I really want to live.  That marriage to the person who makes me feel like somebody.  That child to be conceived.  That big promotion.  That dream job.  That dream car.  That dream house. 

We live perpetually for the almost but not yet and while we do, we miss our legacy. 

Consider this. 

If our destination is already concluded, the destination can no longer be the point.  

The point then, can only be found in how we live each day… the journey.  The now.  This is the one thing we may still impact. 

The picture of Rocky holding up the trophy doesn’t mean anything without knowing how he got there. 

The kiss at the end of the movie doesn’t give you the feelings it does if you don’t know how the couple fought to be together. 

The treasure being won or lost doesn’t matter without knowing who was finding it, why, and what obstacles they faced getting there. 

The destination simply does not carry profundity without the journey. 

And our journeys are happening NOW.  

When Paul is writing from prison and says he has learned ‘to be content in every circumstance’, I don’t think he means he’s learned to smile at the pain.  I think it means he’s figured out that his destination is NOW.  I think it means he’s figured out that every second, right now, informs his legacy – regardless of his circumstances.  He writes, “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty.  I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty, or in want.” (Phil. 4:12)

This is not a “Hey man, I can be happy when things suck, good for me.” 

This is a “This right NOW, regardless of what it feels like, this is the purpose of my life.  How I respond to this; how I rejoice in this; how I use every moment for the glory of God, no matter if I’m shipwrecked, or in prison, or bitten by a snake, or beaten” (and yes, he was all of those things!). 

Whether you or I get that job, or that raise, or get married (still waiting on that, thanks), or get to have children (still waiting on that one too), or get that car, or that house, or get that award, or that honor – our conclusion is already set. 

These almosts but not yets are not why we are here.  They will not inform our legacies. 

Can I ask you something?  How many funerals have you attended in which someone talks about how many cars the deceased had?  Has anyone ever mentioned the departed’s recent promotion or raise?  I wonder if anyone has been praised at their funeral for their great social posts, or their influencer status. 

I wonder what would change if we chose to let go of our ‘not yets’ and make a deliberate action to define, pursue, or articulate our legacies.  How would that change our actions from moment to moment?  How would it change how we experience hardship or discontent? 

If I die tomorrow, I don’t want people to say of me, “That person wanted to be married.”  That’s not a legacy.  It’s a wish unfulfilled. 

I have only just arrived upon my assignment to write my own eulogy, but I’m committing to it this week.  That’s the practical step I’m taking this week toward building a legacy. 

And Donald, I’m gonna give it all I got.  And one day soon, I hope we sit at Goose Hill with my family beside me and your family beside you, and share our missions.  Missions that have have action plans.  And I hope we dream up all the new ways our missions can evolve to be even greater; missions that will serve even more people, add more beauty to the world, or aid even greater reconciliation.  

Because we already know Rocky wins.  Now’s our chance to write the good part.  

“For whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about these things.” (Phil 4:8)