A walk through the cemetery

As I watched the kids run off through the cemetery to the hill in back, I cringed a little. The juxtaposition of life over death was startling, and I hoped it wasn't disrespectful. I comforted myself with the thought that most of the people who had been buried there would approve, had they been aware.

Cemeteries are a thoughtful place. I walked a bit to read the names and dates on each headstone, and couldn't help but wonder what the stories were behind the names. Must be my age, with 40 just around the bend, causing my mind to wonder about my own end, the end of those I love. I confess it has caused occasional panic. Not that I'm afraid of death, mind you. It's the dying part that scares me a bit. And the unknown of when. And if, at the end of my life, it will be good enough to say that I loved God, loved my husband, loved my children, loved my neighbor....and then her headstone. Her name was Ann. She died in 1873. She was 16 years, 6 months and 18 days old. They counted her every last day. Like they all mattered. As if to honor every moment that she lived. Which includes the days she swept the floors or cared for younger siblings or milked the cow or washed the laundry or studied her algebra. Epiphany! Every day counts, every day should be counted as an opportunity to be remembered. And so I record and number the gifts- the great Love Dare-and try to be a gift to those around me. Loving God, loving my neighbor. And I think in the end that will be enough, perhaps warranting a "well done". Because honestly, my life is full with laundry and making milk and shepherding children and sweeping floors, and it all can seem a bit pointless. No trips round the world for me these days. No greatness beyond a cup of cold water for the least of these. But if every day matters, is worthy of being counted, then these days matter. And somehow that makes everything seem easier. These days are not to be gotten through so real life can begin. This is the real life! My kids ask me each morning, "What are we doing today?" And most days I laugh and say, "We're doing it!" There it is. I'm doing it. Life. And it matters, and will hopefully be worthy of counting each day when I'm gone.

About 100 years from now.

;0)