Mike Stubbe

I recently messaged some of my high school friends via facebook about something significant that happened to me today; I thought I'd post it here as well. It's below:

Hey everyone,
Sorry to invade your facebook inboxes with a rather long and admittedly random note, but something has happened to me today that I'd like to share with you.

A man from our church passed away last week. Maybe some of you knew him; I didn't. His name was Mike Stubbe. He was 26, and a 2000 graduate of CF High. He had been married for 6 years, and had a 5-year old daughter. Mike's daughter found him lying on the couch one morning, covered in a blanket, but dead. He had passed away sometime during the night. The autopsy has been, so far, inconclusive.

I was asked to sing a couple of songs at his funeral today. That's a weird part of my job; I am confronted with the reality of death fairly regularly. Anyways, this one stood out to me. Maybe it'll stand out to you.

While I was getting soundchecked before the funeral, our tech guy was playing through some of the songs that Mike's wife had requested we play sometime during the funeral. One of them was a "blast from the past"--K-Ci and JoJo's "All My Life." As it came over the speakers, I thought to myself: "I have memories of that song." I remember that song playing on the radio right in the middle of college life, when communities and identities were forming, when most things were new or firsts, and when the future was finally starting to be written.

Mike and his wife, Tami, had memories of that song, too. It was playing at a similar time in their life together. It was significant enough to them to be played at Mike's funeral.

And that familiarity--that commonality I had with them in that song--shocked me. Normally I can wrap my mind enough around what happens at a funeral that I can remain somewhat detached, even when the cause of the funeral is pretty tragic. But it was more difficult with this one. He was my (read: our) age. He was in good health. He was a godly man. He wasn't screwing around with his life. Nevertheless, his set amount of days came to an abrupt end.

And that is the somewhat cold reality of life. It ends, and there's really no guarantee, and even the odds can be deceiving. Now, God is sovereign and faithful, and has been explicitly so to Tami, in ways that are too numerous to mention in this already lengthy note. Even with that being said: each of us simply does not know and can not know how much longer we will be here.

So, here's the encouragement that I've felt and that I'd like to pass on to you: no matter where you find yourself right now, or where you've been, or where you think you're going, remember that what really matters in life is knowing God, and living God's life. I listened to Mike's brother get up say as much; that's how he makes sense of this. And it's not an empty truth. God gives meaning and hope through Jesus, linking this life with the next. Clinging to him is our only chance of surviving and even thriving in the face of everything that comes our way.

I know it's not the same as you experiencing this firsthand, but I hope that God is able to draw you nearer to himself through these words, and that they help to keep things in perspective during what promises to be another hectic and loaded holiday season.