To My Saviour Upon My Deathbed

Oh Lord,

You know of my secret trepidation.  This fear that is staunchly seated in the very depths of me of apathy and stagnation.  When I read that You are never-changing, this is my greatest comfort, and my very anxiety.  Death, be it Heaven or hell, suffuses images of the "same," and this sameness speaks a metaphorical death.  What I yearn for and desire, an eternity of unending felicity, I hope, at times, will never come. 

But I forget that the flame undulates and flickers, and that the wind rustles the fallen leaves into a natural sojourn from one place to the next.  I forget that the sun burnishes the sky with a deluge of ebullient iridescence from morning to night.

I forget that the most glorious of earthly memories cannot possibly compare to the infinitesimal beauty of Heaven.

And I forget that You love me and know my fear.  I forget that You love me in spite of my fear.

Therefore, when I die, I will know, I will assent, and I will trust in You.