While I Am Still Here

Lately, I’ve been thinking about death quite a lot, which is a rather strange thing to admit considering that I am also experiencing one of the happiest and most peaceful seasons of my life.

A lot of things have been falling into place. I had my acting debut, I have my jobs, I’ve been travelling, my prayer life has grown, and I can see little improvements in the way I live, think, and respond to things. I’m slowly becoming more intentional about my relationship with God, and I’m learning to appreciate things I used to overlook. I find myself looking at the sky, watching the stars, enjoying the wind against my skin, noticing the birds, the greenery, and the sea. Ordinary things have become beautiful in ways I don’t remember experiencing before.

I’m grateful. Really grateful.

But somewhere in the middle of all this happiness, I started wondering whether this is already the peak of my life. What if this is as good as it gets? What if I’m already at the happiest point of my story?

I remember telling God once that I hoped I would die happy. There’s something comforting about the thought of leaving this world with a grateful heart, knowing that I had experienced love, beauty, and goodness. I don’t want to leave with bitterness, resentment, or a long list of things I wish I had done differently. I want to be able to look back and say that I was loved, that I loved, and that I appreciated the life I was given.

I suppose this is also why I’ve been thinking more about eternity.

I was watching the stars one night while I was on an island, and I remembered reading about stars that eventually die after exhausting their fuel. Some become incredibly luminous during their final stages. The thought stayed with me, although I know the science is more complicated than that. I wondered about how temporary everything is, how even the things that seem so magnificent have an end, and how our own lives are no different.

There was a time when I desperately wanted to leave this world. I’ve had moments when the injustice, hatred, violence, and cruelty around us made earthly life feel unbearable. I’ve thought about death, asked for it, and imagined ways of ending my life. I don’t want to romanticize those moments or pretend they were simply expressions of spirituality. There was real pain behind them.

Today, my thoughts about mortality are coming from a different place. I’m not looking at death because I find no beauty in living. In fact, I’m beginning to appreciate life more. I’m becoming more aware of how precious it is, precisely because I know it will not last forever.

Still, I have this strange concern about the world we are living in. We hear about wars, the possibility of another world war, extreme weather conditions, food shortages, cyberattacks, and the possibility of losing basic services we have grown accustomed to. Even something like an extended power outage or a prolonged drought could make ordinary life incredibly difficult.

And what can I really do about these things?

I can buy some food and supplies, save a little money, and prepare within my means, but I cannot prepare for every possible disaster. I don’t have six months’ worth of savings sitting in my account. I have bills, loans, and responsibilities to attend to. I cannot simply set aside everything else and build an emergency supply that would guarantee my security. There are things I can prepare for, but there are also things entirely beyond my capacity.

Sometimes, thinking about all these possibilities is exhausting. You start imagining one disaster after another until you realize that you cannot possibly anticipate everything. I have come to understand that worrying about things I cannot control will not make me any safer. It will only take away the peace I have today.

So I will do what I can. I will buy what I can afford, save whenever possible, and be responsible with what has been entrusted to me. Beyond that, I have to learn to trust God.

This brings me back to something I’ve been thinking about lately: if I spend so much time preparing for things that may happen, why am I not equally deliberate about preparing for the one thing that will certainly happen?

I am going to die.

I don’t know when, where, or how. I don’t know what the circumstances will be, and I cannot guarantee that I will have the opportunity to say goodbye to everyone I love. But I know that my earthly life is temporary, and I want to be ready to meet the Lord when my time comes.

The difficulty is that preparing for death is not as simple as preparing an emergency bag or stocking up on food. Spiritual preparation requires something much more personal. It means examining my conscience, confronting my sins, making an effort to change, forgiving people, seeking reconciliation, and learning to choose God even when it is difficult.

I can say that I trust Him, but do I trust Him enough to surrender the things I keep holding on to? I can pray every day, but do I also make an effort to avoid the sins I keep returning to? I can ask for His mercy, but am I willing to extend that same mercy to others? I can say that I want to spend eternity with Him, but am I allowing Him to become the center of my life now?

I find this particularly challenging because I know how easy it is to become comfortable with our shortcomings. We can develop a prayer routine, attend Mass, participate in religious activities, and still avoid confronting the parts of ourselves that need conversion. We can be so concerned about what might happen to our bodies that we neglect the condition of our souls.

And I don’t want to live that way.

I want to be prepared, not because I’m constantly anticipating the worst, but because I know where my life is ultimately leading.

There’s also something else I keep returning to whenever I think about the life I’ve been given: my parents.

If someone asked me what has made me happiest, I would probably talk about the way my parents loved me. The way they adored me, the way they welcomed me, and the way I can simply be their daughter without having to prove anything. Is that selfish? I hope not. I want to do things for them, care for them, and give back in whatever ways I can, but there’s something incredibly comforting about being loved so unconditionally.

No one else can love me quite the way they did. And yet, I know that even their love is only a reflection of something greater.

God loved me through them.

He planted that love in their hearts and allowed them to become the people through whom I would experience what it means to be cared for. He chose them to be part of my life, to look after me, and to show me a kind of love that I might otherwise have struggled to recognize.

The Father’s love is infinitely greater, of course, but sometimes I find it difficult to recognize because I cannot see Him or experience His affection in quite the same way I experience the love of my parents. It takes a relationship with Him, a willingness to spend time with Him, and a heart that is attentive enough to recognize His presence in ordinary things.

The more I look closely at my life, the more I realize how much of His love has already reached me through other people.

And this is something I want to carry with me, wherever life takes me.

I don’t want to become so preoccupied with the possibility of losing everything that I forget to appreciate what I have. I don’t want to spend my days worrying about wars I cannot prevent, disasters I cannot control, or uncertainties I cannot answer. Neither do I want to use my trust in God as an excuse to neglect the responsibilities I have today.

I want to live responsibly, but without allowing fear to dictate how I live. I want to prepare for eternity without treating my present life as something I am simply waiting to leave. I want to appreciate the people who make my life beautiful, serve where I can, pray for those who need prayers, and continue growing in my relationship with God.

There are still so many things I want to experience. There are places I haven’t visited, stories I haven’t written, people I haven’t met, and opportunities to serve that I haven’t encountered yet. I don’t want to assume that my happiest days are already behind me, or that the best part of my story has already happened.

If God grants me more years, I want to receive them with gratitude. If He gives me more opportunities to love, I want to make use of them. If He entrusts more people to my care, I want to be generous with what I can offer. And when difficulties come, I want to meet them with the same faith I am trying to cultivate today.

I have no idea how much time I have, and none of us really do. What I do know is that I have today, and I don’t want to waste it worrying about the day I cannot see.

I want to live with an open heart, a light spirit, and a soul that is always making its way home to God.

And when the time finally comes, I hope I can look back without a heavy heart, carrying with me the memories of the people who loved me, the love I was able to give, and the grace that accompanied me through all my days.

Until then, I still have a life to live.