There was a little boy who had an incurable illness. Month after
month, the mother tenderly nursed him. But as the time went by, the little fellow
gradually began to realize that he would not live. One day he asked his mother:
"Mother, what is it like to die? Does it hurt?"
Tears filled the mother's eyes and she fled to the kitchen to see about something on the stove. She knew the question had to be faced. She leaned against the kitchen cabinet, her knuckles pressed white against the wall, and breathed a hurried prayer, "Lord, tell me how to answer him." And the Lord did tell her. Immediately she knew what to say.
She returned to his room. "Kenneth," she said, "you remember when you were a tiny boy you used to play so hard, when night came you would be too tired even to undress, and you would tumble into mother's bed and fall asleep? That was not your bed... it was not where you belonged.
"In the morning you would wake up and find yourself in your own bed in your own room. Your father had come- with big strong arms- and carried you into your own room. Kenneth, that's what death is like. We fall asleep. Then our Heavenly Father picks us up with His mighty hands and carries us to heaven. Later, when morning comes, we wake up and find ourselves not in a strange place but in our own room- in a place where we belong."
Faith is not merely our holding on to God. It is God holding on to us when we can no longer hold on to Him. It is God reaching down to us when we fall asleep, lifting us in His all-powerful arms and taking us to our own "room," to our own place in the great kingdom of His love.
Coniaris, Anthony M. 1978, Christ’s Comfort: for those who sorrow, Light and Life Publishing Company, USA, pp. 18.