Living Beside a Mortuary: A Wake-Up Call to Purpose

I once lived in a house next to a mortuary during a mission assignment. A broken fence was all that stood between my room and the bodies. I was the only tenant. Others were too afraid. Every day I witnessed real death. Stretchers rolled in. Ambulances arrived. Mourners wept. It was not theory or sermons—this was raw life. I saw how fleeting our pride and possessions are. The car we chase. The home we build. One day they gather people for a condolence visit. I asked myself what my life would mean if my body lay in that freezer tomorrow. Not popularity or noise. But lasting impact and purpose. Life’s clock is always ticking.

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