For us, death is an ending. We rarely think of it as a beginning.
Often, in order for something to be made new, it must die. A seed dies in the ground in order to become a plant. A single person leaves singularity to be a married unit of two equaling one. The math changes. From woman to mother. From caterpillar to butterfly. From weak to strong. It is a scientific fact that in order to build muscle, one must work the current muscles to the point of small tears, at which point they heal, and grow stronger.
A new beginning is not without struggle. The page is turned. The old page becomes the past. We die to its currency.
The old passes so that the new can awaken. We forget, when we look at our own lives, about cocoons. We forget that God has different ideas about death. We forget that He is eternal. Perhaps it would help us to hope bigger, when we look at difficult seasons in our life, of barrenness and loneliness and heartbreak, when we are adamantly wishing for the good old days, that God sees things differently than we do.
The leaves fall from the trees in October, giving themselves to the ground, welcoming the decay and wet and cold, because they were made to do so. They are teaching us something.
Death is a good fertilizer for new life. Fall is the promise for spring.
In our thinking, death is finality, a closed door. A tomb, covered by a stone. In God’s mind, death makes way for resurrection. A glorious trump card.