As we wrap up Easter week, though still just beginning the 40-day Easter season, I'm stuck on the lyrics from one worship song:
"Oh, Death, where is your sting?" (from Matt Maher's Christ is Risen)
Actually, death does sting. I've just come from the funeral of a dear young man, the teenaged son of friends with whom my husband and I have shared life for all of our 18-year marriage. Last summer I said goodbye to three other friends and family members, two suddenly and one after a long illness.
I'm done with death, thank you very much.