Losing a child is a grave oﬀense. It oﬀends God, your profession, and your personal knowledge of inspired commitment, and writes “little person” on your tombstone.
Yes. Awful in life to know you could have done more but didn’t. Death when living is a terribly awful experience, whether a jailer of souls assigned by awesome God or lasting, awful, pitiful squandering of self. When one’s words lose awareness of consciousness, you have already assumed quiet death’s awful, easy posture.
copyright 2014 John Smyth