You may be familiar with The Band Perry’s song “If I Die Young.” Kimberly Perry sweetly sings, “If I die young, bury me in satin; Lay me down on a bed of roses; Sink me in a river at dawn; Send me away with the words of a love song…”
I’ve got my own version of “If I Die Young.” Yep, I know I’m 47 and that may seem old to some of you, but every time I have a birthday I realize I’ll never be this young again so…
If I die young, will someone please wash out and recycle the 3-4 jars of salsa my son goes through every week? He refuses to wash them out because “When all that stuff is in the sink it looks like someone threw up.”
If I die young, will someone please come scoop out my cat’s litter pan? Gross, I know. But for the health of my family and the sanity of my cat, someone’s gonna have to step up.
If I die young, will someone do my laundry in color-coded, temperature-designated piles and not throw clothes of every color from the rainbow into the washing machine at the same time? I know my husband does it and the colors never bleed together, but I think he has a supernatural power over laundry that no one else possesses.
If I die young, will someone cart 6 tubs full of t-shirts, cheerleading uniforms and football jerseys up to school and have a prep sale on THE HOTTEST day of August, a day equivalent to what hades feels like when satan is on a roll? A hint: you better wear clinical strength deodorant if you sign up for this one.
If I die young, will make sure the meat doesn’t touch the starch and the starch doesn’t touch the veggie and the veggie doesn’t touch the meat on my 20 year old daughter’s plate? It’s a phobia she carries with her to this day.
And if I die young, will someone please unbox, unwrap, set up and light up every piece of our Christmas Snow Village under the kids’ Christmas tree upstairs? For some reason EVERYONE wants all houses, churches, businesses, vehicles, people & animals who are literally frozen in time on display but NO ONE wants to help make that little miracle village happen.
I don’t plan on dying young, but it really doesn’t matter what my plan is. God’s plan is bigger. God’s plan is better. Only God knows how many days I’ll have on this earth.
“Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:16)
“You have decided the length of our lives. You know how many months we will live, and we are not given a minute longer.” (Job 14:5)
So until God calls me home, I’ll wash out salsa jars, scoop litter pans, wash laundry according to colors, sell t-shirts in the heat, make sure my daughter’s food doesn’t touch and set up the Snow Village every Christmas.
But if I die young… Lord help ‘em.
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