Day 224

Isaiah 37–38 | Hebrews 1:1–2:4

⸻

I heard it through the grapevine—the kind of news you don’t expect on an ordinary week.

Mike, the husband of my old friend and neighbor, Candice, died suddenly last week from a medical emergency while driving.

I never met Mike. I don’t know his story. But I know the people he married into. I grew up with Candice’s sister, Morgan—and their dad, Loren, was simply “Coach” to all of us, whether on the football field or in the junior high Sunday school room. He’s one of those rare figures you can’t imagine your childhood without. If Buckeye, Arizona, had a Hall of Fame, Coach Ratlief would be in it

We haven’t spoken in over twenty years. But grief doesn’t care about miles or decades. It still lands heavy. It still makes you ache for the ones carrying it.

And it puts my own year of lament into perspective. I’ve nursed the sting of a hand injury that still hasn’t fully healed. I’ve felt the weight of job loss and the fog of uncertainty. But none of it even comes close to what I imagine Candice and their daughter, Harper, are facing right now.

Even from far away, news like this makes you stop. It reminds you that life doesn’t run on our schedules. That sometimes, tomorrow doesn’t come.

And in God’s providence, my reading this morning landed in Isaiah 38.

When God Gives More Time

King Hezekiah was sick—deathly sick. The prophet Isaiah told him to get his house in order because the end had come. But Hezekiah prayed, wept, and asked God to remember his faithfulness.

And God did.

“I have heard your prayer; I have seen your tears. Behold, I will add fifteen years to your life.” (v5)

Fifteen more years. Fifteen more meals with family. Fifteen more moments to watch the sunrise.

But it doesn’t always happen like that.

For every Hezekiah, there’s another life that ends without warning. Another family—a family just like the Rodgers—sitting in utter shock. Another set of plans that will never be finished.

The One Who Conquered Death

Hebrews 2 says Jesus “shared in their humanity so that by His death He might break the power of him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil—and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.” (v14–15)

This is more than a verse we read at funerals. It’s a battle report.

Death has been declawed. Its authority revoked. Its permanence? Completely shattered.

That doesn’t mean believers are spared from dying. It means the grave has become a doorway instead of a dead end. It means if Mike believed in Christ—and I’m told he did—his last breath here was his first breath in the presence of his Savior. It means the same voice that called Lazarus from the tomb has now called Mike into everlasting life.

Hezekiah’s extra years were a mercy, but so is the hope Christ gives when time runs out. Because for those who belong to Him, the end of the story isn’t written in black granite — it’s written in resurrection light.

When Death Feels Too Soon

I don’t know why some get fifteen more years and others get fifteen fewer than we expected.

But I do know this—one day, death itself will be swallowed up. The enemy that interrupts our dinners and hijacks our calendars will be the one caught off guard.

And the next time death comes without warning, it will be the last time it ever comes at all.

⸻

Lord, when life ends sooner than we expect, help us not to lose sight of the hope You’ve secured. Keep me from demanding answers You haven’t promised to give, and teach me to rest in the promise You have given—that death has been defeated, my eternity is secure, and one day every goodbye said in Christ will be undone. Amen.

⸻

Before I close today, there’s one more thing I need to say.

It’s not for most of you—it’s for one specific fifth grader who will probably never read this. But just in case she ever does, I want these words to live here.

Just for her.

⸻

Harper,

I never met your dad. But I do know the family you come from—and they’re the kind of people who stay with you. People who left a mark on me and who I’m grateful to have known, even decades later. I have no doubt they love you deeply.

And even though you and I have never met, I know something about your life right now. You just started the fifth grade on Monday. I have a daughter too, only two years older than you. And when I think about how much I love her, I know without a doubt your dad loved you just as fiercely and wanted the very best for you.

There’s something else I need you to know—something even greater than your father’s love. Jesus loves you, too. More than you can measure. More than you can imagine.

And the most important thing you will ever discover is this: God loves you, and through His Son, Jesus Christ, He has made a way for you to be with Him in heaven forever.

If you believe in Him—like your dad did—then the story doesn’t end here. One day, you will see your dad again. And when that day comes, I believe he and Jesus will sprint to meet you with the kind of hug that makes every sadness and sorrow lose its sting.

Because as a dad myself, I know your father would have given his life for you.

And that as your Savior, Jesus already did.

With all my love and the deepest empathy,

Your Aunt Morgan’s old friend,

Grant