By Tom Wilbur

(Caveat: I’m writing today about life, death, and faith, and Jesus. If you’re not interested in any of these subjects, just move along. There’s nothing to see here.)

One of our bank associates here at BANK VI had a baby girl this morning. Mother and daughter, I’m told, are doing well. We are very happy for all concerned. There’s a new human being with us in the world—and as friends, co-workers, and loved ones—we will participate in the celebration together for this little one—and in this joy ride she is about to experience, called life.

Today, this baby doesn’t care who gets elected President in November, what the weather will be tomorrow, or whether the Chiefs training camp is going well. She’s on auto-pilot, breathing, eating and sleeping, and relying on her Mom and Dad to get through today. She is an innocent clean slate—an open vessel—waiting to be filled with knowledge, understanding, and love. She’s a beautiful child of God.

Life is an incredible gift. From the moment we are born, we are free. And then the changes and challenges begin– some trivial, others monumental. We will attempt to stand, and often times, we will fall. We’ll try to make words, and then form sentences. We learn to communicate and dialogue—and to interact with others. In the process, we will succeed at some things, and fail miserably at others. If we falter, we may give it another go. Or in some instances, not.

We may come to know the real love of having a partner in our life’s journey– possibly even a family of our own. Some of us will live a very full life. My aunt’s mother, Dorothy, is 99 years young and is still going strong—she’s quite a woman. I know others who have experienced a loss of a child, the passing of someone way too young, and still others who have taken their own lives in despair—and the reasons come from anywhere, and nowhere. I do not have the answers. But the sadness in losing someone we love is overwhelming.

My son, Brock, is about to turn 28. My daughter, Brooke, is 24, and her husband Landon similarly. My wife is somewhere over 50 (careful here, Sparky). My parents are both 82 years old this year—and are doing very well. My mother in law is 87—and my brothers, are 54 and 30. I love them all so much. I can’t imagine them not being here—or me— not being here, for them.

Enter this fellow– Eric. I’ve never met Eric. He is 28, and has been battling cancer for a decade, and he’s about to die. Eric started videoing the process to share his story about his fight against leukemia, and has posted these videos on YouTube for several years. You can follow them from the beginning there.

But this one will be his last because he’s saying good-bye . . . it’s a tribute to his courage and to a battle fought. An expression of his love for people he cares about—for the very last time. A statement of affirmation. As he says— he has taken on the challenge, and has done the best he could. He’s understandably scared, and he knows it’s his time for the body he occupies— to cease to function. Hospice has arrived to care for him at his parent’s home, where he will spend his last days.

The video is here. This warning– it’s tough to watch. Don’t watch it, if you aren’t prepared to see Eric face this moment. It’s a harsh reality, and heartbreaking.

I don’t know Eric, but he and I have a common bond. We’ve both have heard the C word—personally, as millions of others have before us. Two years ago, I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I have several friends here in Salina, who have faced cancer recently, and I’m sure you know people who are doing the same. One of my best friends from high school is battling, and I mean really battling, Stage IV pancreatic cancer. He’s sharing what he goes through every day online—and there are always highs and lows, but his attitude is remarkable. I have seen this “bring it on” attitude from other cancer patients before– that incredible will to live. To be there for family and loved ones. To continue on. To inhale another day. Our capacity to survive is amazing.

But regardless of what we say or do, we all pass from this world. These physical bodies we house will eventually give way. Timing is certainly a variable. It could be today, tomorrow or 40 years from now.

No one in history has ever beat that process. But my message today is that I hope that you are a person of faith, and that your beliefs will help you transcend these bodies we occupy. A belief in God means there is hope for something more. As a Christian, my belief is that there is a light beyond this life– promised us by having a commitment to faith, and confirmed by the death of our Lord and Savior upon the cross. A promise that we can have a life eternal, simply by accepting His offer. He is waiting for you, and me, with open arms.

I’ll share this with you, my friends— having a relationship with God has brought the greatest joy possible into my life. I’m so grateful for His living presence within me. I screw up on the rules of the game a lot, and yet He forgives me. You can experience the same experience and the same amount of joy in your life. Just think about it. No pressure or salesmanship here. When you’re ready, you’ll know it.

And this— if you don’t have a church home, there are many great churches in Salina. At the church I attend, all are accepted every Sunday at 8:00, NINE:50, and 11:00 a.m. No one is turned away. I help with music at the NINE:50 worship service. We’d love to have you join us. If you’re unsure, simply come and give it a try. We sing and pray together, and dialogue about what having a relationship means. No seat belts. No restraints. No free passes or discount coupons. But it’s worth the trip.

I hope you’ll get on board at a church near you, sometime soon.

Blessings,

tw