We moved to our new home in January and there is a cemetery at the end of the road, only one block with one house sits between. I would say about 3 times a month, the workers are out digging and putting up the tent for the funeral.
I once heard a man recount how he would frequent cemeteries in order to face his own mortality. It's not often in this hectic world that we stop to think about such things. I, too often, find myself driven from one thing to the next - articles about the latest medical finding, nuclear threat or criminal act. Pictures and memes on social media that, let's be honest, I seriously can't remember 3 minutes after looking at them. It often boils down to "there was this hilarious meme I saw...but I can't exactly remember what the picture was..." A ghostly image, veiled and fleeting.
But the digging. The tents going up. The mounds that lay after, piled high with quickly dehydrating flowers. Those images seem to stick with me. Maybe it's the confrontation with my own mortality. How many days left on this earth, Lord? How many days to make a difference in the lives of those I love? Or in the lives of those I don't even know yet? How many days to point to the stones of remembrance, how You met me, saved me, reconciled me with those seemingly unreconcilable. How many days of breath and laughter and embraces from those who make my heart wrench with even the thought of their loss? How many days?
And how many days have You sustained? How many days have you held all things in perfect motion and order in my life. Though I often see trial and heartache, uncertainty and grief, the deepest of losses and the yet the greatest of joys - You have held all things in perfect order. I can look back and see how You alone have used the darkest days to bring the most light, the most searing moments to heal. You are good.
Thank you Lord for moving me a block from a cemetery. Help me never take for granted the days, no matter what they hold or have in store.
