Today, someone from my childhood died.

His name was John.

John was my sister Courtney’s dad, but he was also part of my life for most of my childhood and into adulthood. He met Brandon when we were first dating (at a Love’s truck stop & I remember him telling me he knew we’d get married). He was Grandpa John to Elias, and shared many years of memories with our family.

When I think of him, I don’t think first about hospitals or trucks or debt.

I think about fishing.

I think about laughter.

I think about being out on the lake.

One of my favorite memories is from the summer of 2020. My sisters, our significant others, Elias, and John rented a cabin and spent the weekend together. We spent a whole day on the water—fishing, talking, laughing, and simply enjoying one another’s company.

2020 was a difficult year for so many people, but that weekend felt different.

Peaceful.

Restful.

Alive.

I found an old post I wrote afterward. Part of it said:

“Being on the lake with no worries for a whole day can do wonders for the soul.”

Reading those words today brought tears to my eyes.

Because that wasn’t really what made the weekend special.

The lake was beautiful.

The fishing was fun.

But what made it memorable was the people.

John driving the boat.

My sisters laughing.

Everyone taking turns entertaining Elias so Brandon and I could rest.

Stories being told.

Memories being made.

Life being shared.

Years earlier, after a serious health scare landed him in the ICU, John lived with our family for a couple of months while he recovered. He sat at our table. Shared meals. Shared stories. Shared life.

And maybe that’s why his passing has me thinking so much about what makes a life rich.

Jesus said:

“I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

For years, I imagined abundance as having enough.

Enough money.

Enough security.

Enough stability.

Enough success.

But the older I get, the more I wonder if one of the clearest expressions of abundant life is much simpler.

Shared meals.

Fishing trips.

Birthday phone calls.

Grandchildren helping steer the boat.

Conversations that run long because nobody is watching the clock.

Ecclesiastes reminds us that there is a season for everything under heaven.

A season for work.

A season for building.

A season for planting.

A season for harvesting.

But there is also a season for gathering.

For visiting.

For showing up.

For making memories that become stories later.

As I’ve reflected on John’s life this week, I’ve realized something.

Nobody is talking about how many miles he drove.

Nobody is talking about paychecks.

Nobody is talking about debt.

We’re talking about the fishing trips.

The cabin.

The RV adventures.

The stories he told.

The way he made us laugh.

The way he sat at our table. (And how long it took him to eat… iykyk. lol).

The way he took Elias out on the water and let him help drive the boat.

Those are the things that remain.

Those are the things that outlive us.

Work matters.

Providing matters.

Responsibility matters.

But they were never meant to become our whole lives.

We are kept alive by participation, not productivity.

Not because productivity has no value.

But because relationships are what give meaning to everything else.

At the end of a life, the question is rarely, “Did I get everything done?”

The question is much more often, “Was I there?”

For the people I loved.

For the moments that mattered.

For the life that was happening all around me.

This week, I find myself grateful for every fishing trip, every shared meal, every story, and every memory John gave us.

And I find myself asking a question I hope I don’t forget:

What am I postponing until later that might actually matter most right now?

If you want to help with end of life expenses, anything would help <3 : https://gofund.me/2e660f1a2