My mind is on heaven these days. Of what it must be like to be with the One who has created and orchestrated all things, who sent His Son to die and rise again so that we may live on in His very presence. To the beauty my loved ones are beholding. To be spared of the effects of sin—to only see pureness and goodness. To not feel pain or worries, sorrow or hardship. To only know full joy and peace. It makes me yearn so intensely for heaven.

After three years, it becomes easier to block out the tragic memory of death. But in the last few weeks, as the anniversary approached, I felt myself go into guarded-mode. Just not sure if I wanted to allow myself to relive. Many times, I’ve stepped inside the door, started to tiptoe to his bedside, only to once again, slam the book on the memory. Nope. Too afraid to feel the hurt. But today my mind waits at the door, my eyes peek into the heart-wrenching memory of three years ago and I walk in.

On this day, three years ago, my dad took his last breath and entered into the presence of our Lord and Savior. How can it be three years? It seems like just yesterday and yet so far away. I focus my mind on the end—not of the horribleness of death but of the mystery it offers. What was my dad thinking? What was he feeling? Did he know it was the end? Could he hear us? Did he know we were all there in the room with him? Could he see the angels ready to carry him Home? Was Jesus calling his name? What was it like to go from the earthly realm to a heavenly? Did he know he was leaving his dear loved ones behind yet to step onto Heaven’s beautiful shore; to see His Savior face to face and to fall onto his knees in overwhelming adoration?

While at my mom’s I sat gazing at his deserted desk. His calendar still hanging open at March 2016, his Bible laying open where he was last reading, a small to-do list still pinned to his corkboard. I said, “It’s like time stopped.” I didn’t linger long, but before we left the room I said to Mom, “I feel like if Dad walked into the house today it’s like no time would’ve even passed. We would carry on as if nothing happened.”

Even as I visited his grave yesterday a tiny little wave of shock hit me again. How can he be dead? It feels like just yesterday that he was here with us. I can hear him chuckle at one of his dry jokes. Him telling me about, or even showing me, a new trail he found while tracking for deer. His trusty (or do I mean rusty?) vehicles that were never eye-pleasing yet got him from A to B and didn’t seem bother him at all. The quiet reprimand at one of my not-so-good choices and how he didn’t push his opinion but would gently take me to God’s Word. His faithful listening ears. His godly example. His hard work. His sacrifice. His eagerness to teach and guide through God’s Word. His faithful marriage to my mom and the beautiful example they lived out. His love for gospel music. The joy on his face as He shared what God was teaching him. His consistency in his views, standards and priorities though the world’s was ever-changing. His attitude despite given a death sentence. He lived for God and I’ll never forget that.

So, what have I learned in the past three years?

I love my dad as much today as I did three years ago; even death cannot separate love. That I still miss him, and it still hurts. Life is no guarantee and it doesn’t happen as we expect. We are not promised a long, pleasant life on this earth. We are given only the specific amount of time God allows. Not a day more, not a day less. We must use it wisely. Don’t be so selfish. Sacrifice for others. Share the gospel. Stand firm in your faith, even if it means standing alone. Love as Christ loved you and gave His life for you. You are not here for you but because of the Creator who loves you and has given you air in your lungs. So, do not take it for granted. Instead, use every breath and every moment for His glory. When God calls you Home, will He say, “Well done, good and faithful servant”?

If I allow myself to go back to that place, it’s all right there. All of it. I didn’t forget. I remember walking out of that hospital room for the last time. I felt alone, with a darkness that fell over my world. Now what? Time stopped. Everything was different. How appropriate that yesterday was Good Friday, the day Jesus Christ was tortured and later died on a cross. How His friends must’ve felt! A darkness and despair was felt in their hearts and over the land. That was it. Their Savior was gone. And so was their hope.

But we know the rest of the story. His death had to happen so that His resurrection could happen. It was all part of God’s sovereign plan. And because of Jesus’ resurrection—for those who put their hope and trust in Him—we have eternal life with Him! And I have hope that my dad is with Him today—praise the Lord!! Not only does my heart cling to that hope but that God is still using my dad’s tragic and saddening death for His glory. For His purpose. For His perfect plan.

Dr. David Jeremiah writes in his book, The God You May Not Know, “Sometimes we wonder why God doesn’t exercise His power on our behalf.” God could’ve healed my dad. He could’ve spared his life so that we could have him for another 20 or 30 years. But He didn’t. Dr. Jeremiah continues, “The answer is that God only exercises His power in accordance with His purposes.” Not mine. His plan is far bigger and far greater than I could ever think or understand. And His purpose was to call my dad home.

When life gets you down, remember we are not in this land forever, which means our trials are also not forever. Just because my situation or circumstances changed doesn’t mean my God has. It’s important to remember that as we go through life—because it’s ever-changing and very scary at times—we have a Rock on which we can cling during the crashing waves. That Rock is Jesus Christ and He never moves. He is always the same. And that’s a hope we must cling to.