The other day someone quoted an old Irish blessing. It goes like this: May you be in heaven 30 minutes before the devil know you are dead.
At first, that sounds kind of fun, right? Woo-hoo, slip one past the devil. But the more I thought about it the more I decided that my goal is exactly the opposite. When I’m on my deathbed, I want the devil to be outside pacing the hall, muttering “*&%#$! Won’t she ever go?”
I don’t want to be the kind of person the devil doesn’t notice. I want to cause the maximum amount of disruption to his evil plans as long as I’m breathing. I’d rather picture him breathing a big sigh of relief once I’m no longer around to cause him trouble.
Am I asking too much?
How would you like the devil to take the news of your demise?