The Beauty in Dying: Goodness and Mercy in the Final Days

The last several days spent at St. Mary’s hospice with my mother-in-law as she nears the end of her life here on earth have taught me something I didn’t expect: there is beauty in dying.

I don’t say this to sound callous, or to dismiss the pain of what we are losing. The grief is real. The ache is deep. But I have also seen God’s hand in every aspect of my time here.

I got to witness the beauty of God allowing us lucid time with Claudene—time we did not anticipate having. Time that was purely a gift. God granted those moments so we could share our hearts with her: asking for her forgiveness, telling her we forgive her, affirming our love for her, and most importantly—affirming her faith in Jesus. I will never stop marveling at the mercy of God in that.

There is also a profound beauty in caring for someone at the end of their earthly life. Meeting basic needs. Learning their language of small signals. Trying to provide comfort and dignity as Claudene draws closer to stepping into eternity—into the presence of Jesus, into heaven. There is tenderness here that is hard to describe unless you’ve lived it.

I’ve also been surprised by the emotions that have surfaced during this time—feelings I did not expect. It is as if God is using these moments to connect the losses we have endured in years past to the loss we are now experiencing with Claudene… almost like He is gently peeling scabs off old wounds—wounds we thought had healed. And somehow, even this feels like His mercy—because He does not waste our sorrow. He meets us in it.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”(Psalm 23:4)

I am in awe of the hospice nurses and staff—Zak, Jessica, Zack, Vanessa, Nikki, Monica, Cynthia, Jasmine, Alivia Stephanie, Wendi, Lida, Rylee, Sheneka, Sara, and so many others—who care so lovingly and respectfully not only for Claudene, but for us as her family. They understand that times like this are not just about the patient. They are also about what the family is walking through as they watch a loved one approach the end of life. Their compassion has been a ministry to our hearts.

One thing God keeps impressing upon my heart during this time is how deeply I want to remember the way people have come alongside us. I don’t want to forget this kind of love. I want it to shape me. I want it to change how I respond in the future when others I love walk into hard places.

Because I’ve seen it—how powerful it is when someone simply shows up. A meal dropped off at the right time. A visit. A text that says, “I’m here.” No agenda. No pressure. Just presence. It has ministered to our hearts in ways I can’t fully put into words.

And I’ve also realized something about myself: I don’t always do a good job of walking this out. I’m not sure why that’s the case. Instead of simply stepping in and doing something tangible, I often take the route of offering to help or asking if I can help—and then only acting if I receive permission.

But this season (and others we’ve walked through) keeps stirring in me the importance of simply acting—lovingly, wisely, and humbly—without needing approval or blessing first. Sometimes the most meaningful love is the kind that doesn’t add another decision to a grieving heart. The kind that doesn’t ask for permission to care. It simply comes.

“Let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.”(1 John 3:18)

My heart’s desire is that God would continue to give me eyes to see His hand during this time.

Yesterday I heard something on Christian radio that pierced my heart. Someone was sharing about their mother who had passed away years ago—how intentional she had been about sharing the gospel with anyone she sensed the Lord nudging her toward. It was a reminder that the gospel is the most important thing we can ever share with those around us.

Immediately I said out loud, “Lord, that is how I want to be. I don’t ever want to shrink back when it comes to You.”

And I realize God has given me this opportunity right here in hospice to do just that—with every nurse, every staff member, every individual on Claudene’s medical team. Divine appointments. Open doors. Moments He has placed in my hands to speak of Jesus and the hope He gives to all who believe.

Some I’ve met already have that hope. Others I am praying God would stir and move toward Himself through our interactions.

Even in this, I am reminded again: the gospel changes everything.Because of Christ, death is not the end—it is a doorway into His presence.For those who belong to Jesus, there is no fear in dying, because He has already gone before us.

“To live is Christ, and to die is gain.”(Philippians 1:21)

And what a promise we cling to as we sit beside a hospice bed:

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more… neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore.”(Revelation 21:4)

Lord, through my weariness and loss, strengthen me moment by moment.May I not waste a thing You have given—or will give.May You keep turning my heart back toward You.And may You use my life to point others to You…the God Above All Else.

Closing Prayer

Father,

Thank You for meeting us in the valley. Thank You for being near—not only in joy, but in the shadowlands of sorrow. Thank You for every tender mercy You have given in these hospice days: for lucid moments, for words spoken, for forgiveness shared, for love affirmed, and for the gospel that anchors us when nothing else can.

Lord, help me to remember what it feels like to be carried—so that I may become someone who carries others. Teach me not to only offer help, but to step forward in love with humility and courage. Make me quick to show up, quick to serve, quick to love in deed and truth.

Strengthen me moment by moment. Keep my eyes open to Your hand at work. And Lord, make me bold with the gospel—gentle, sincere, unashamed—ready for every divine appointment You place before me.

Thank You that because of Jesus, death does not win. Thank You for the promise of Heaven, for the hope of reunion, and for the day when You will wipe every tear away. Until then, keep our hearts fixed on Christ—our Shepherd, our Savior, our peace.

In Jesus’ name,Amen.