Thursday, 6 February 2014
The Graveyard Walk
Wandering through a graveyard the other day (yes, I know how to live life to the full!) I began looking at the gravestones. Memoirs of loved ones, scattered across the lush grass. I felt the love and care, and pictured lives being lived. Some were simple, some more elaborate but all were people who have been loved.
I began to wonder what would be on my gravestone. What would I like people to write so the world will know I once existed? A life so fleeting as a breath in the wind surely has to be commemorated somehow. I thought of phrases I might write down for the boys so that if they were ever in the position of organising my gravestone, they would know what I'd like. Or should I leave it to them to decide? In 100 year's time when someone walks / flies past my gravestone, what do I want them to know about me? How will I be celebrated?
And then, like a blow to my windswept forehead, it hit me.
It doesn't matter.
What others say is not important. What others think is not important. Even in death, here I am trying to live for the approval of others.
Whether they write 'Wonderful mother, grandmother and wife' or 'grumpy old bag' has no significance.
The only approval I need is that of my Father in heaven and He says I am accepted, loved, cherished and secure. He delights over me with singing. Seriously?! He sings songs of love and celebration over me.
My significance in this world and the approval I need to live for doesn't come from my friends, my family or a random person on twitter who might retweet the odd comment. It comes from my God.
And so, beautiful gravestone or not, when my life's work is done, I will be satisfied in Him because He is satisfied with me.