My stepdaughters’ grandmother died tragically in a car accident last month. She was 89.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what she did last year.
Last year, she asked my husband for forgiveness. She hadn’t talked to him in 15 years, not since he and her daughter got divorced. She was understandably hurt, but this godly woman apologized for treating him coldly at school and family events over the years.
They hugged, cried, and talked. They reconciled.
And just like that, my husband and I have been welcomed warmly to Easter dinner, Christmas Day caroling, and other family gatherings. The last time I saw her, she squeezed my hands goodbye and smiled.
This is what I think about when I think of her. Whatever mistakes she made in her life, I think about the love of Christ so evident at the end.
I imagine this is what Paul meant when the aging apostle wrote to a young pastor named Timothy: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now, a crown is being held for me—a crown for being right with God” (2 Timothy 4:6-8 NCV).
What a gift. What a legacy.
It reminds me of an article about Ron Shaich, the cofounder of Panera Bread. He credits his success to dwelling on what it would look like to “finish his race.”
Every year, Ron envisions himself at the end of his life. He sets aside a day or two to write a hypothetical obituary, listing only the deepest accomplishments he hopes to achieve. Then he maps out specific actions he can take in the next year to reach his vision.
By starting at the end, Ron says he makes the most of today. He doesn’t want to take the chance of procrastinating and leaving his biggest goals undone.
It also keeps his focus on the big picture. He doesn’t get distracted by other people’s definitions of success or opportunities that don’t necessarily get him to his goal.
Writing his obituary every year lifts his eyes from the daily grind of tasks, dollars, and projects to do and become what he most respects and values.
I hope you’ll consider writing your obituary and letting it change how you approach the next year. I will.
In the meantime, I’ll be honoring the life of an 89-year-old woman who showed me and my family what matters most.
Bobbye Campbell, 1935-2024