By lilly_en_route
I once heard someone describe what happens at a funeral prayer.
It stayed with me, not because I was there, but because the image was so vivid that it felt like I could see it.
They said it’s one of the shortest prayers you’ll ever experience.
No bowing. No kneeling. No long recitations.
Just four simple statements declaring the greatness of God, with moments of silence in between.
Barely ten minutes from start to finish.
And that’s it.
A farewell for an entire lifetime, condensed into a prayer that’s over before most people have even processed that it began.
A Life Measured in Minutes
Think about that for a moment.
We live for decades, sixty, seventy, maybe ninety years if we’re given a long life.
We work, we plan, we hustle.
We chase education, titles, salaries, cars, houses.
We chase love. We chase image.
We worry about what people think, what they’ll say, whether they’ll praise us or criticise us.
And then, one day, it ends.
A short prayer.
A body placed into the ground.
Soil covering the coffin.
The people leaving, each to their own lives again.
The Illusion of Time
We live as if we have time.
We tell ourselves there will be a “later”, later to change, later to heal, later to pray, later to start the thing we know we’re meant to start.
But there is no guaranteed later. There is only now.
Death doesn’t send an appointment reminder.
It doesn’t wait for you to be ready.
It arrives exactly when it’s meant to, and never on your schedule.
When it does, none of the little irritations or petty arguments will matter.
The only thing that will matter is the trail you’ve left behind, the good you did, the kindness you showed, the truth you lived by.
What We Spend Our Lives On
It’s shocking how much of life is spent on things that vanish.
The clothes in your wardrobe.
The car you polished every weekend.
The house you renovated for years.
The status updates, the photos, the likes and comments.
None of them will follow you when you go.
They’ll stay here, claimed by others, forgotten, or replaced.
The only thing that will go with you is the sum of what you did with sincerity.
Every act of kindness.
Every moment of integrity.
Every time you chose what was right over what was easy.
How the World Moves On
If you’ve ever lost someone, you know this truth: life for the living continues far more quickly than we imagine.
For a few days or weeks, there might be photos shared online, phone calls made, condolences offered.
But eventually, people go back to their routines.
You’re not forgotten. But you’re no longer part of their daily thoughts.
And yet we spend so much of our lives shaping ourselves for the approval of people whose attention span for us in death will be brief.
If You Knew Your Number
If you knew exactly how many days you had left, what would change?
Would you make peace with someone you’ve been avoiding?
Would you be kinder to your family?
Would you start praying or praying more regularly?
Would you finally act on the dream you’ve been “waiting” to begin?
The reality is: you do have a number.
You just don’t know it.
And it decreases every single day.
Preparing Without Fear
Living with the awareness of death isn’t meant to create fear.
It’s meant to create clarity.
It means knowing that every breath you take can be invested into something meaningful — or wasted on something that disappears like smoke.
It means stepping back when life tries to pull you into endless distractions and remembering: This isn’t why I’m here.
The Lessons in a Funeral Prayer
Hearing how short that farewell prayer is taught me three things:
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Life is short. Even ninety years can be honoured in ten minutes.
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Simplicity matters. At the end, all the extras we think are important fall away.
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Deeds remain. Once life ends, you can’t add to your story. What you’ve already sent forward is all you have.
These lessons could feel heavy, but they’re strangely freeing.
If life is short, you can stop wasting time on the meaningless.
If simplicity matters, you don’t have to overcomplicate your choices.
If deeds remain, you can focus on what really counts.
Living With the End in Mind
Imagine your life as a book.
Right now, you’re writing a page.
You don’t know how many pages are left, but the final one is already set.
If you knew this page might be your last, what would you write on it?
Living with the end in mind doesn’t mean living without joy.
It means living with intention.
It means treating your time, your words, and your energy as precious.
It means letting go of grudges before they become the last thing you carry.
Going Home
One of the most beautiful thoughts I’ve heard about death is this:
For the believer, it’s going home.
It’s returning to the One who gave you life, the One who saw you at your weakest, the One who forgave you when you couldn’t forgive yourself.
That’s why no matter how much we achieve here, there’s always a restlessness.
Because we weren’t made to feel at home here.
Our soul knows we belong somewhere else.
The Choice We Have Every Day
Each morning, you wake up with a fresh chance to write your story.
You can spend it chasing distractions, or you can invest it in something eternal.
You can choose to help someone in need.
You can choose to pray, to give, to forgive.
You can choose to plant a seed that will keep growing long after you’re gone.
Life is short.
But short doesn’t mean insignificant.
It means you have to choose carefully.
A Promise to Myself
When I think about that simple ten-minute prayer, I know I don’t want to be remembered for being endlessly busy.
I want to be remembered for showing up for the people who mattered.
For giving when I could have kept.
For trying, every day, to live a life that would matter beyond my own years.
And when my time comes, I want it to be said:
She lived with the end in mind.
She lived ready to go home.
