Wresting with Death, Eternity, and the Fear of Letting Go

Reflections on Chapter four of The Purpose Driven Life

There’s something deeply unsettling about contemplating our own mortality. As I worked through Chapter Four of The Purpose Driven Life, titled, “Made to Last Forever,” I found myself confronting a truth I’d rather avoid: the inevitability of death and what lies beyond.

If I’m being completely honest, the thought of dying terrifies me! Not necessarily because I fear the unknown, but because of what it means I’ll have to leave behind.

The Weight of Love and the Fear of Separation

When I think about death, my heart immediately goes to the people who matter the most to me. My children- the bond we share, the love that flows between us, the time I spend nurturing them and raising them up in the way they should go. My fiancé- the one I’ve chosen to walk through life with, to build dreams together, to share my deepest joys and fears with. My parents- who gave me life, shaped who I am, and continue to be pillars of strength and wisdom in world. My friends and sibling- the companions of my childhood, the ones who know my story from the beginning, who share my history and understand me in ways others cannot.

All of these relationships feel too precious, too vital, too incomplete to simply end. The thought that one day I will have to leave them behind- or worse, that they might leave me- breaks my heart and, if I’m being totally honest, scares me to no end.

This isn’t just about my own mortality; it’s about the relationships that define my existence, the people who give my life meaning and purpose. How do you reconcile the depth of earthly love with the reality of earthly endings? How do you face the possibility of being separated from the very people who make life worth living?

When This Life Feels Like Everything

Rick Warren opens this chapter with a statement that challenges our most basic assumptions: “This life is not all there is.” For those of us deeply invested in the relationships, dreams and purposes of this world, this can feel almost dismissive. How can this life-with all it’s beauty, love, and significance- be anything less than everything?

When I think about missing my children’s life milestones, not being there to guide them through future challenge, or leaving my fiancé to navigate life’s journey alone- how can any promise of eternity compare to the immediacy and intensity of these earthly bonds? When I consider the possibility of losing my parents’ wisdom and guidance, or being separated from the friends and siblings who’ve been my life long companions, eternity feels like a poor consolation prize.

But Warren isn’t diminishing the importance of our earthly existence. Instead, he’s providing context. “Life on Earth is just a dress rehearsal for the real production,” he writes. This perspective doesn’t make our current relationships less meaningful; it suggests they’re preparation for something even greater.

The analogy he uses is particularly striking: “Just as the nine months you spend in your mother’s womb were not an end in themselves but preparation for life, so this life is preparation for the next.” Our time in the womb was real, significant, and formative- but it was preparation for a fuller existence we couldn’t have imagined while we ere there.

The Eternal Perspective That Changes Everything

Warren makes an observation about proximity to God: “The closer you live to God, the smaller everything else appears. When you live in the light of eternity, your values change. Your priorities are reordered. “This isn’t about minimising earthly concerns but about seeing them within their proper cosmic context.

But here’s where I struggle: I don’t want my love for my family to appear “smaller”. These relationships feel like the most important things in my universe. The idea that growing closer to God might somehow diminish the significance of these precious bonds feels the threatening rather than comforting.

Yet Ecclesiastes 3:11 tells us that God “has also put eternity in the human heart.” This might explain why death feels so unnatural to us, why separation feels so wrong. We were designed for forever. The ache we feel at the thought of endings isn’t weakness-it’s recognition of our eternal nature. Perhaps the intensity of our earthly love is actually a glimpse of the eternal love we were created for.

Beyond Clouds and Harps

Like many people, my mental image of eternity has been shaped more by cartoons than Scripture. Warren addresses this directly: “We won’t lie around on clouds with halos playing harps! We will enjoy unbroken fellowship with God, and he will enjoy us for an unlimited, endless forever.”

But even as I read these words, I struggle to truly grasp what this means. My mind cannot begin to wrap around the fact that there is more beyond the realm of death. Will I still be a parent in eternity? Will my relationship with my fiancé continue in some transformed way? Will my parents still be the wise counselors I’ve always known? Will my siblings and friends still hare our unique bond? Heaven still feels abstract, like a story of continuation designed to soothe the fear that exists in the thought of death rather than a concrete reality I can trust.

C. S. Lewis captured this in the final lines of The Chronicles of Narnia: “For us this is the end of all the stories… But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world… had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read, which goes on forever and in which every chapter is better than the one before.”

The Transition

Warren makes a crucial distinction: “Death is not your termination, but your transition into eternity.” This reframes everything. If death is transition rather than ending, then the relationships, love, and purposes that define this life aren’t lost- they’re transformed.

The Scripture reminds us in 1 Corinthians 2:9 that “No one has ever seen or heard, or even imagined, what wonderful things God has ready for those who love the Lord.” Maybe our fear of death stems partly from our inability to imagine anything better than what we already know and love. Perhaps what awaits us is not the absence of the relationships we cherish, but their fulfillment in ways we cannot comprehend.

Eternal Consequences of Temporal Choices

This eternal perspective carries weight for how we live today. “There are eternal consequences to everything you do on earth.” Warren writes. This isn’t meant to burden us with anxiety but to help us understand that our choices matter beyon their immediate impact.

How I parent my children today echoes in eternity. The way I love and honor my fiancé, the respect I show my parents, the kindness I extend to my siblings and friends- all of these relationships are being woven into an eternal tapestry. The investments I make in these earthly bonds aren’t lost when life ends; they’re transformed and perfected.

The deeds of this life become the destiny of the next. What we do here echoes in eternity. This give significance to our daily decisions, our relationships, our character development, and our service to others.

The Question That Cuts to the Heart

Warren concludes this chapter with a question: “Since I was made to last forever, what is the one thing I should stop doing and the one thing I should start doing today?”

As I sat with this question, thinking about my family and friends- all the people who make my life meaningful- many things came to mind. Habits to break, practices to adopt, changes to make. But one response rose above all others: I need to stop fearing the Lord and begin revering Him.

From Fear to Reverence

There is a difference between fearing God and revering Him. Fear creates distance, anxiety, and a desire to hide. Reverence creates intimacy, wonder and a desire to draw near. Fear sees God as a threat to avoid; reverence sees God as the source of life to embrace.

My fear of death, my terror at leaving loved ones behind, my struggle to imagine eternity- all of these stem from a view of God that’s too small, too distant, too uncertain. If I truly believed that the Once who loves me more than I love my own children is the One preparing eternity for me, wouldn’t that change everything?

If I could trust that the God who created the capacity for love between parent and child, between life partners, between families, has something even more wonderful planned for eternity, wouldn’t that transform my perspective on both life and death?

Living in Light Forever

The promise of 1 John 2:17 both comforts and challenges me: “This world is fading away, along with everything it craves. But if you do the will of God you will live forever.” Everything temporary will fade, but those who align themselves with God’s eternal purposes will endure.

This doesn’t mean we love our earthly relationships less, but that we love them within the context of forever. We invest in them deeply while holding them lightly, knowing that what’s truly good about them will somehow be preserved and perfected in eternity.

The time I spend with my family, the honor I show my parents, the connection I maintain with my family and friends- all of this is preparation for something eternal. These relationships are not obstacles to heavenly thinking; they’re glimpses of heavenly reality.

As I continue to wrestle with these eternal realities, I’m learning that the fear of death is really fear of an inadequate view of God. The closer I draw to Him- not in fear but in reverence- the more I can trust that His plans for forever are better than anything I can imagine, even the beautiful relationships and purposes that make this life so precious.

The goal isn’t to become indifferent to this world, but to love it properly- as preparation for something even more wonderful that awaits. The people who matter most to me aren’t distractions from eternity; they’re part of the eternal story God is writing.