I Don't Want to Die with Cans Attached to My Bumper

We don’t see this much anymore, or perhaps at all these days. However, years ago, when a couple got married, the tradition was to tie cans to the bumper as they drove away from the reception. It was a celebratory moment. Rice was thrown, people were cheering, and the newlyweds jumped into their car and whisked away toward their honeymoon.

At some point, life would settle in for the couple, and those cans would be removed from the bumper of their car.

As a chaplain for over two decades, I have witnessed many last-breath moments with my patients, sometimes in the presence of their families and sometimes by themselves.

One of the gifts of being a chaplain is the gift of story.

In the lives of all those I was honored to visit, I heard their stories. It was often like listening to a novel, a thriller, or a mixture of both: suspense, sadness, dreams that had come true, dreams that had not, moments of great joy, and moments of deep sorrow.

There were notable moments when the climax of their lives came to an end. I was compelled to deeply reflect on their stories and on how their lives were coming to an end. As I listened and watched, I began to notice the cans left on their bumpers.

I also noticed those who no longer seemed to have cans tied to their bumpers.

What I realized as I reflected on what I heard and saw was this:

I didn’t want to die with cans attached to my bumper.

As I gathered the stories I had been entrusted with, I began to see that those cans represented unresolved issues, relationships, wounds, regrets, and experiences. For others, the cans were not as noticeable.

As I had the opportunity to hold the stories of so many people, I heard thoughts of regret for dreams they didn’t follow; unresolved relationships marked by hurt; words said to those they loved or walked with; the celebration of great achievements; and the longing for more.

It was truly a gift of raw humanity—heard, seen, and held by another human being. All of it came wrapped in colorful cultures, family traditions, faith, and the uniqueness of every person's story.

I have been forever changed by those encounters. For my soul, my life, and my hope, these encounters have profoundly impacted me.

Countless times, I have walked away from a hospital room or a home praying and asking that I would either get to die a death I had just witnessed or asking for mercy not to die the death I had seen.

You see, those who passed with layers of unresolved issues in their lives sometimes left this world carrying what seemed like a deep soul torment. Those cans that had been tied behind them had made all kinds of noise as they lived forward, but there had never been enough pause to turn around and make peace with what was following them.

Those things that pursue us in life will never stop their pursuit of us as long as we stay ahead of them.But those things that pursue us, when we stop and address them, can begin to transform us.

I witnessed others who were facing death who seemed to have little or no cans following behind them. There was more of a settling in their lives—a place of resolve that seemed to be measured with peace.

I witnessed both groups of people who had an active faith and those whose faith was not so noticeable. I saw both groups with big families and those who seemed to know no other person on the planet. The rich, the poor, and everyone in between.

God has gifted humanity with the freedom of our will—a freedom to choose how to live our lives from the inside out, to live from the heart or soul of our being into a world full of unknown adventure.

Those I sat with who seemed to have addressed the cans in their lives were more able to live from the inside out. In other words, they seemed to have a sense of agency about themselves. They were able to choose the kind of person they wanted to be rather than simply allowing what had happened to them to determine who they would become.

Those with many cans seemed to have the opposite experience.

They lived from the outside in. Their wounds and experiences, both positive and negative, seemed to have authority over them, preventing a more determined will for their lives. And the cans accumulated behind them as they continued to live their lives.

The truth for all of us is that we live in both groups in our humanity.

We have cans following us, and we have cans that have settled in alongside the paths of our lives.

Achievement is great. Popularity is fun. Dreams fully lived out are some of the marks of what we call a successful life.

But we can have all of these things and still not be satisfied.

What has a person gained if they gain the whole world but forfeit their soul?

We all will have a final breath.

How we want to face that final breath is being decided now by how we live our lives.

I sat with so many people from all stages of life who, as their day approached, wanted to deal with the cans they had been pulling behind them.

I believe this is part of what Jesus came to address in us.

Jesus came to give us life—an abundant life.

This isn't the American dream of any sort. It is something soul-deep. It is a satisfied life found in Him

Jesus came to satisfy and complete what He created us to be. He invites us to stop running from the things that pursue us, to bring them into the light, and to allow Him to meet us there.

Perhaps the question isn't whether we have cans.

Perhaps the question is:

What cans are you carrying?

And perhaps the invitation is not to be ashamed of them, but to stop long enough to look at them with Him.

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

~

If you would like a peaceful place to look at some cans you have been pulling behind you, it would be an honor to hear your story.

Peace, my friends,

Rob