A Conundrum: How can one be wasting away and being renewed at the same time?

I know it's a long title but it summarizes a question I've had for a long time.  I observed  the answer firsthand this week.

The scripture presents this paradoxical parallel in II Corinthians 4:16-18.
"So we do not lose heart,  Though our outer self is wasting away our inner self is being renewed day by day.  For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen,  For the things that are seen are transient but the things that are unseen are eternal."

My dear friend, Ward, is 86 years old and has stage four prostate cancer that has metastasized into bone cancer. He is grappling with increasing pain and is, essentially, bound to his bed.  Cared for by his adoring daughter, son-in-law and grandson, he is in a totally-nurturing environment of sacrificial loving support. 

Ward worked with me for fifteen years in ministry, caring for the seniors of our church, visiting in the hospitals and rest homes, as well as teaching and sharing his life experiences form sixty-plus years as a pastor.  All of us who knew him were enriched by his humble spirit and his humor.  None of that had diminished when I visited him on Monday.

I was anxious to see Ward, but apprehensive.  I was uncertain about how he would look and from recent phone calls with his weakness becoming increasingly apparent, expected the worse.  But as I entered his room he was smiling, welcoming me with the familiar words, "How are you, Bishop?" He was sleepy--apologizing for his inability to keep his eyes   opened--but kept us laughing...and crying.  At one point he said, "I am only catching half of what you are saying so you'll need to stay twice as long..."

It was clear that Ward had waited for us to come.  My friends, Bob and Evelyn, and Beverly, my wife, had planned the visit in advance, hoping to catch Ward one more time before God called him home.  We reflected on times past, shared experiences at Grace Fellowship Church where we all had served together, and talked about people who were mutually important to us.  Ward's physical weakness was undeniable--he is no longer able to get out of bed--but there was an inner resilience and strength about him that was undeniable.  

How so?  How can one be in pain, facing his own mortality and, yet, at the same time be alive and vibrant with life and hope?  The paradox in the text from II Corinthians alludes to a differing perspective--a focus on things that are eternal, not transient, and an ability to separate the momentary pain and affliction from the ultimate eternal reward and victory.  As the physical body wears down and death becomes imminent, there is for the believer whose focus slowly changes--I call it a time of relinquishment--a renewing and strengthening of the hope he has before only verbalized but now embraces with accelerating clarity.

I saw that clarity in Ward.  He has fought hard to live but now, as the strength for the battle for life diminishes in the face of the reality of his weakening condition, there is a sharpened affirmation of the faith he has long proclaimed and practiced.  The inner man is being renewed in preparation for eternity.

It's a conundrum--an enigma we may not fully understand until our time comes.  For me it is heartening to know that God's promise of grace for every situation is certain and sure, and that His strength is truly made perfect and complete in our weakness.  Thanks, Ward, for providing the real life illustration of that scriptural passage for me. 

I walked to my car crying--we all were--because there is no denying the inevitability of death And the certainty of our own mortality. And our grief in losing--though only for a season--one we love so deeply.

But I was crying for myself--not for Ward. He is being renewed already...and a new body is on order for him, to replace this one he is shedding now.  Only God knows when.  We wait for His perfect timing.