So I was one of the many who was glued to Whitney Houston's funeral. Not from the start, but from somewhere in the middle. I must admit, it was not like many other funerals I've watched and attended. It has its' own va-voom. Actually, weird as it sounds, I loved it. Truly blown away by it.
Which took me back to my life. A couple of days after the funeral, I took a long, hard look at my life. How I lived it. How my funeral will be. When I go, will anyone cry for me? How will my funeral look like? Will my life be celebrated? How many lives will I have touched? How many people will be grateful that I lived? How many people will share warm stories and testimonies of what I did for them?
Better still, what about Jesus? Will my final bow on earth be a triumphant entry to heaven? Will He give me the standing ovation He gave to Stephen at his death? Will he be exceedingly glad that his daughter's back? Will He welcome me with a smile and a hug? Is He anxiously waiting my return? Will He be waiting with my shiny crown in His hands?
I pray, that, when all is said and done, my final bow will not be one of sorrow, but of joy, both to those on earth, and those in Heaven.
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