There's a phrase we use so often we've stopped noticing it. Someone passes away and we say they "left us." We talk about who they "left behind." We describe the people still here as the ones who "survived." And I understand why we say it that way; it's how loss feels. It feels like abandonment, like a sudden absence where something used to be. But I think they might be telling the wrong story.
Because if we actually believe what we say we believe, the person who died isn't the one who left. They're the one who arrived.
That shift in perspective doesn't come naturally, especially not in the early days of grief. The absence is too much. We notice it in small, specific ways: a habit that no longer happens, a chair that stays empty, a name we almost call out before we remember that they're gone. That kind of missing is real and it deserves to be honored, not talked around. Grief isn't a problem to be solved. It feels like love that has nowhere to go for a little while.
But Paul writes in Philippians 3:20, "Our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ." That verse doesn't minimize the ache, but it does widen the lens. It reminds me that this life, as meaningful as it is, was never the final destination. As believers, we're all in motion toward the same place. Some people just get there before we do.
When we recognize that, the story changes from "they left" to "they finished." From "I lost them" to "I know where they are." We're not holding loss and hope as opposites anymore. We're can hold them together, because that's actually where they belong.
Reflection Questions:
- When you think about someone you’ve lost, what do you picture when you think about where they are now?
- Does thinking of them as somewhere (not just gone) change anything for you?
- How might your day look a little different if you remembered this isn’t the end of the story?