By Chuck Monan, Preaching Minister

It is no mark of courage to speak lightly of human dying.  We may do it in bravado, or in wantonness; but no man who thinks can call it a trifling thing to die.  It is mockery for a man to speak lightly about that which we cannot know till it comes.
~ Frederick W. Robertson                                                                      

Randy Pausch had it all: a wife he loved deeply, three beautiful children, a fulfilling and exciting career as a college professor.  Life was good.

But in the summer of 2006 Pausch felt pain in his abdomen.  Initially, doctors suspected he had hepatitis.  That turned out to be wishful thinking.  When CT scans revealed pancreatic cancer, Pausch was suddenly facing a bleak future.  Life was going to be brief.

How Randy Pausch dealt with this news and lived his last two years of life is remarkable to behold.  Thinking of the wisdom he wanted to impart to the world, his students, and especially his children, he considered his demise and began to collect and organize his thoughts.  Not only did he give this talk, but it has been published in his book The Last Lecture.  The book is a national bestseller, and Pausch’s lecture has been watched by tens of millions on the Internet.  The attitude he exhibits in the face of tragedy is truly inspiring.  As Pausch says, “We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand.”

It’s one thing to say this; it’s quite another to mean it.  Consider this against the realization of what Pausch was leaving behind:

There are so many things I want to tell my children, and right now, they’re too young to understand.  Dylan just turned six.  Logan is three.  Chloe is eighteen months old.  I want the kids to know who I am, what I’ve always believed in, and all the ways in which I’ve come to love them.  Given their ages, so much of this would be over their heads.  I wish the kids could understand how desperately I don’t want to leave them.  Jai and I haven’t even told them yet that I’m dying.  We’ve been advised that we should wait until I’m more symptomatic.  Right now, though I’ve been given just months to live, I still look pretty healthy.  And so my kids remain unaware that in my every encounter with them I’m saying goodbye.  It pains me to think that when they’re older, they won’t have a father.  When I cry in the shower, I’m not usually thinking, “I won’t get to see them do this” or “I won’t get to see them do that.”  I’m thinking about the kids not having a father.  I’m focused more on what they’re going to lose than on what I’m going to lose. Yes, a percentage of my sadness is, “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t...” But a bigger part of me grieves for them.  I keep thinking, “They won’t ... they won’t ... they won’t.”  That’s what chews me up inside, when I let it.

Few have ever played the hand they were dealt any better.  On July 25, 2008, Randy Pausch lost his battle against cancer.  But as the Bible says “by faith he still speaks, even though he is dead” (Heb. 11:4).

With each passing day, I cling ever more tightly to the hope of resurrection.