I have a cousin who’s just two years older than me. She's a vibrant soul who has faced a long, grueling battle with cancer. This week, she is in her final days. It’s heartbreaking. She’s still so young, not yet even fifty years old, with so much life and love left in her.
As I sit here, feeling ridiculous over not feeling well on the way to meet up with friends for a concert, I can’t help but think of her. She’s been in a real fight. Her fight requires courage, pain, and incredible strength. And now, as her journey comes to an end, those who are by her side say her faith remains unwavering. She’s facing goodbye with grace, surrounded by her husband, her sister, her father, and so many others who love her deeply.
How is it possible that after enduring so much pain, after walking through such relentless suffering with an outcome that feels so unjust, her faith isn't broken? Instead it is strengthened. How is it possible, in these final moments, when her body is failing and her loved ones are bracing for goodbye, those beside her say her spirits are high?
What kind of God do we serve, who steps into the room at the very moment when we are most undone—when grief is heavy, when hope flickers low—and gently whispers, "You don’t have to carry this anymore. Now, you’ll walk on My strength, not your own."
It’s a sacred exchange: our weakness for His strength, our sorrow for His comfort, our last breath for His eternal embrace.
Sometimes I find myself thinking about my own final days on this earth. I don’t know how or when I’ll leave this temporary home, but one thing I know with certainty: He will be with me. In those last moments, when the world begins to fade and the veil between here and eternity grows thin, He will strengthen me.
I believe that with all my heart.
I will be about to step into something far more real than anything I've ever known. I’ll be on the threshold of glory, about to see my Savior face to face. Heaven will open wide, and it will be more beautiful, more full of joy and wholeness, than anything I’ve ever dared to dream. And my cousin will be there, waiting.
You know, we have a Savior who didn’t just talk about life after death, He overcame death itself. Conquered it. Walked right through the grave and came out victorious. And because of that, we can hold on to real hope, even in the midst of deep sorrow.
The Resurrection and the Life: The Story of Lazarus
Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
—John 11:25–26
These words weren’t spoken in a quiet moment of reflection. They were spoken into the middle of heartbreak. Jesus said them to Martha, whose brother Lazarus had just died. Grief hung heavy in the air. Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days. Hope, from a human standpoint, was gone.
Martha had sent word to Jesus days earlier, begging Him to come, believing He could heal her brother. But Jesus delayed, not out of neglect, but with divine purpose. When He finally arrived in Bethany, Lazarus was already dead, and Martha, full of sorrow and confusion, met Him on the road.
“If you had been here,” she said, “my brother wouldn’t have died.”
Those words held both pain and faith, tightly intertwined. Oh, Martha, Martha, Martha. She’s my soul sister. This wasn’t the first time she’d been exasperated with Jesus.
He was late. Too late, in her eyes, to save Lazarus. Just as He had been, in her mind, too unconcerned to tell Mary to help in the kitchen when the house was full and the to-do list never-ending. Jesus didn’t always move on Martha’s timeline. He didn’t bend to her expectations, no matter how urgent or practical they seemed.
But here, in the grief-heavy aftermath of her brother’s death, she still came out to meet Him. Still brought her broken heart and confusion to His feet. She believed Jesus could have stopped death, but didn’t yet understand that He had power over it, too.
And this is where Jesus reveals something extraordinary, not just about Lazarus, but about Himself.
“I am the resurrection and the life,” He says.
Not I will be, not I can bring, but I AM. Resurrection is not an event, it’s a person. Jesus Himself is life over death, light in the darkness, hope beyond the grave.
Still, Martha couldn’t have known what was coming. No one there did. Jesus wept with them. He felt the sting of death, the weight of human sorrow. And then, standing outside the sealed tomb, He called out with a loud voice:
“Lazarus, come forth!”
And Lazarus did. Wrapped in grave clothes, the man who had been dead walked out of the tomb alive. This wasn’t just a miracle, it was a foreshadowing of the ultimate victory that was to come. Jesus didn’t just resuscitate Lazarus. He revealed His authority over death itself.
And just days later, Jesus would prove it again, not by raising another, but by walking out of His own grave.
And isn't that the entire point? That’s the victory. That’s why we needed a Savior.
Because death had always had the final word, until Jesus came and rewrote the ending.
So when He asks, “Do you believe this?”
He’s not just speaking to Martha.
He’s asking us, too.
Jesus, the Lifegiver: The Story of Jairus’ Daughter
Lazarus isn’t the only example of Jesus’ authority over death in the Bible. Long before Jesus called Lazarus out of the tomb, He encountered another desperate situation, one that would become a quiet but powerful display of divine compassion and resurrection power.
There was a man named Jairus, a synagogue leader. He wasn’t just someone from the crowd. He was highly respected, a man of stature and integrity, likely well-known in the religious community. But that day, Jairus wasn’t standing tall in honor. He was crumbling in desperation. His daughter, just twelve years old, was dying. And no position, no wealth, no reputation could stop death from coming for her.
So Jairus did the unthinkable for a man in his position. He threw himself at the feet of Jesus.
“My little daughter is dying. Please come and put your hands on her so that she will be healed and live.”
—Mark 5:23
Jesus didn’t hesitate. He went with him. But on the way, the journey was interrupted. A woman in the crowd reached out to touch Jesus’ robe and was healed. While Jesus paused to speak to her, Jairus had to wait. Can you imagine the agony? Every second mattered, and Jesus was stopping to talk. Again, Jesus wasn’t working on anyone else’s timeline.
Then came the news no father ever wants to hear:
“Your daughter is dead,” they said. “Why bother the teacher anymore?”
—Mark 5:35
But Jesus overheard and He answered with words that should echo in our hearts when hope feels gone:
“Don’t be afraid; just believe.”
—Mark 5:36
When they arrived at the house, mourners were already gathered, weeping and wailing. But Jesus went inside with just a few disciples and the girl’s parents. He took her lifeless hand in His and said:
“Little girl, I say to you, arise!”
—Mark 5:41
And just like that, she got up and began to walk around.
From the edge of death to life restored. From hopeless mourning to speechless joy. And Jesus? He simply told them to give her something to eat, as if waking a child from sleep was the most natural thing in the world.
Jesus doesn't just respond to power or position. He responds to faith. He steps into our desperation, even when it seems like it's too late, and He speaks life where there was only loss. Jairus’ daughter wasn’t too far gone.
And neither is any situation when Jesus is in it.
As I make plans to visit my cousin and prepare to say what will likely be my final goodbye on this side of heaven, I find myself encouraged by the truths found in Scripture. These biblical stories—these living, breathing testaments of God’s power—are not just ancient accounts. They are anchors for the soul.
In the face of death, there is a temptation to feel helpless and believe that it is the ultimate end, the final word. But the Bible reminds us over and over again that even death must bow to Jesus. It is not wild or untouchable. It is not sovereign. It is not in control.
Death answers to Christ.
It is under His authority, beneath His power, subject to His voice.
When He said, “Lazarus, come forth,” death had no choice but to let go.
When He took the little girl’s hand and said, “Arise,” breath returned.
When He laid down His own life and rose again three days later, He shattered the chains that had held humanity in fear for generations.
That same Jesus, the one who commands tombs to open and hearts to beat again, is the One who now walks with my cousin. The One who will carry her gently when it’s time to go. And the One who will one day raise her again, whole and radiant, never to suffer again.
So I go to say goodbye with tears, yes, but not without hope.
Because death doesn’t get the last word.
Jesus does.
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