My heart is heavy as one of our workers was in a motorcycle accident last night and lost his life. I just saw him a few hours before. He came to my house. I chatted with him, asked him for his phone number and took a picture of him with my phone. He didn't smile until I told him to--I said, "When you call me your picture is going to pop up and I want to see you smiling!" He smiled. I snapped the picture. We shook hands. It was a good, firm handshake.
It was the last picture that was taken of him and probably his last handshake.
This morning his mother arrived in town and saw his body, with the hole in his head. She and her relatives wailed. They have no hope. Though a former Buddhist monk, he was not a believer. When I heard the moaning I was overwhelmed with emotion. All I could think about was what would I feel like if I lost my son? Tears flowed.
He had heard the gospel. He was present once when I shared the message of Jesus to a large group of all of our workers. I noticed he seemed interested. Man, I wish I would have sat him down and talked with him more last night. His friends told me they saw him after he left my house. He said he was so happy I took his picture.
I smiled. But I wish I had done more than that.
Time is short. Life is fragile. Don't wait.