Mike Tolson died this morning. Massive heart attack.
Mike Tolson and his family are members of the church I grew up in and the church my family still attends today.
He was a deacon and had four children that my siblings and I grew up with.
He'd just retired and had enjoyed a huge retirement party thrown by his family and friends this past weekend. I'm sure he was looking forward to getting to spend time with his family and finally having complete say over how he spent his time.
He got up at 2 AM this morning to go to the restroom and died before he got there.
I don't struggle with death, because I am assured of what will happen after my eyes close for the last time.
What I struggle with is the times He choses to to gather His own so suddenly, without warning, without foreboding, without good-byes.
A little less than four years ago, my great-aunt succumbed to cancer. However, she was allowed time to embrace those she loved, to set her house in order, to say good-bye, before He opened the door for her.
Two weeks ago, a girl a couple years younger than me, who attends my church, collapsed, was rushed to the hospital and died a few days later. The culprit, a blood clot in her brain. No warning, no goodbyes, no final "I love yous."
A person could laud on and on about being "ready." That same person would most likely remind me of the ten virgins, five of which didn't have enough oil to keep vigil as they watched for the Bridegroom and five of which had stockpiled extra oil in anticipation of the vigil.
But the person who would open their mouth to deliver the message of being prepared would have to remember, even take into account, that no matter how ready I am to welcome my Bridegroom and His wedding party, those that love me may not be ready to surrender me.
Good bye Mr. Tolson, thank you for all that you've given to my family, the love, the help, the resources, the friendship. We look forward to once again breaking bread with you at The Banqueting Table.
