“Precious in the sight of the LORD
is the death of his saints.” (Psalm 116:15)

Each of us must one day come to life’s final harbour. From there we embark upon the last journey—from time into eternity. Our earthly labour will be finished and we shall stand before God.

After Augustine’s conversion he resolved to return with Monica to North Africa. The two waited at the port city of Ostia for their voyage but in the providence of God, Monica had reached another port. It all happened so suddenly. As Augustine later recorded in his Confessions – nine days of illness and her soul departed while she rested in the arms of the son upon whom she had extended all her spiritual, emotional and physical energy.

Not long before these final days, Monica and Augustine stood together at the window of their lodging in Ostia. Augustine later recalled how, “forgetting those things which are behind,” their conversation rose above the passing concerns of this world as they contemplated the eternal joys that God has prepared for His people—those things “which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard.”

As Augustine mourned for Monica – “who had for many years wept for me that I might live” – he was comforted because “she neither died unhappy nor did she altogether die. For of this we were assured by the witness of her good life, her ‘faith unfeigned’”.

Monica’s life’s work was complete. Her race was run at fifty-six years of age. Augustine’s Christian ministry, at thirty-three years of age was about to commence . The mother who had prayed for thirty years was now with Christ, while the son for whom she had prayed would spend the rest of his life proclaiming that same Saviour. God’s servants pass from the scene, but His work goes on.

Dear reader, live so that when your earthly work is finished you may enter God’s presence knowing, like Monica, that your race has been run in faith.

“I’ve wrestled on towards heaven,
‘Gainst storm and wind and tide,
Now, like a weary traveller 
That leadeth on his guide,
Amid the shades of evening,
While sinks life’s lingering sand,
I hail the glory dawning
In Immanuel’s land
Anne Ross Cousin