"Once we have taken our last breaths, our stories in history have been written" (McManus 20). In Erwin Raphael McManus' The Last Arrow: Save Nothing for the Next Life, more than theological or even spiritual advice is given. McManus uses this book to teach us how to live and, yes, how to die. I was especially tickled that he referenced the ancient Samurai (and a quote that was used to illustrate the people of Star Trek's Klingon Culture-- yes, I'm a trekker) "Today is a good day to die". For the Klingon's the phrase is shortened to "Today is a good day" but the "to die" is implied in their culture. Growing up as a Trekker, I often thought that the Klingon's were just brutal and violent so, in their minds, the day one dies would have to be a good day. However, with McManus' explanation and the added depth of the Samurai culture, I have decided that this phrase, both phrases really, says something so much greater than an acknowledgement of death or any tip of the hand to brutal violence. It says more than even the honor I might guess at with the Samurai connection. A person fully believing that it is a good day for him/her to die means that they believe their life is complete. They have left nothing undone, they have saved nothing for later; in short, everything they had and possibly even more, has been used up for the purpose of their life and there is nothing left that they could do.
Perhaps reading this in the wake of my G-pa's death is a bad idea, perhaps it's brilliant. But one thing I do know, reading it through my grief has allowed it to touch me in raw spaces I would have normally had the strength to keep walls up around. My G-pa was the type of man I believe McManus is talking about. He loved his Savior, his wife, and his family (including the dogs) with such a passion that I am only familiar with its strength and feel because I was lucky enough to be one of those he loved. He was disciplined his whole life, having a time for exercise (even the day of his heart attack), for politics, definitely time for spending quiet time for God, and then he had the rest of his day. The rest of his day he fixed things that needed fixing, he cultivated his orchard, wrote his pirate books, watched the classic movies of the golden age (teaching me a true love of them as well--serious, check out Quo Vadis), was a child at heart playing with us younger ones, and, I truly believe, enjoyed being ornery. He was far from perfect as that ornery streak shows, but G-pa lived his all every day and when the final day came, while none of us were ready to see this strong man go, he had no regrets. Oh his brother had regrets he apologized for that day, he stole blue suede shoes from his older brother, but G-pa he was ready to go to his Savior, Jesus Christ. And as he died, he spoke with each of us, comforting and holding me, pinning my cousin-in-law on his faith and where he was at with it, and having so many other interactions that I wish we'd had constantly with him but we were too busy trying not to use up everything, trying to save part of ourselves for the next day or the next interaction and this time, this time there was nothing left to save it for with my G-pa because this was the end of our earthly time with him. But I have to say, to use McManus' words and draw my example of McManus' text being seen in real life to a close:
"May you die with your quivers empty.
May you die with your hearts full.
I watched my G-Pa do this, and from reading this book The Last Arrow, I feel I have even more tools to live and die the same way.
