I’m Alive. At Least, I Think I Am.

Last week a Greeley Colorado man was surprised to hear of his own death. Apparently, his obituary had run in the local paper, placed by a family member upset with Edgar Balderrma’s .

Friends and family were calling Balderrma’s wife. Well-wishers descended on the family. People even brought money to his not-widowed wife, to help raise their two children.

And since he was out working at the dairy, he missed out on dozens of frantic phone calls and text messages, wondering what had happened.

The guy was oblivious to the second-most important event in his life. He came home to a house-full of family and friends. Tears flowed and everyone was smiling.

He was taken aback by the whole thing, but then mildly happy at the reception his near-death brought. “Everyone missed me,” he said.

In a few minutes I’ll walk out to get today’s paper. And I normally do read the obituaries. There is something honoring about the act, noting the final words of a life. But what if my name were there?

What would be said? Who would rush to my home, to comfort my family? Would my affairs be in order, my relationships peaceful, my secrets all told? Could I look God in the eye, face-to-face, and honestly tell him I was ready?

Like Edgar. I’m not dead yet. And Lord willing, I’ll have today to get the story straight.