The Best We Can Do

The day my father passed from this earth to the next life was July 19, 2013;  Today, November 5, 2013.  Every time I revisit my dad's grave, a new detail is added.  First, a few weeks after his departure there was a laminated card in a green plastic holder with a few details, his name, rank and site number posted in neat row aligned with a host of others.  Dad's marker is at the end of a row by the edge of an occasionally flowing stream.  I arrived on my second visit with my mom and brother, to His engraved granite marker resting upon hardened reddish soil, the dry, compacted earth resisting placement of the spiked funnel shaped vase.  And finally, yesterday, dad's marker was surrounded by thick blades of soft green grass, with soil so soft the placement of the vase and flowers were easy.

There is another thing noticed each time I arrive.  This process progresses, increasing numbers of tags, markers and grass filling dad's section, 59A  Others gather around to visit their precious spot, some bringing a chair, all bringing something to place by all that remains of physical account.  Or is that really true?

Yesterday, as I walked past thousands of markers in search of my mom's bowling buddy's wife's marker, I envisioned what might be if only the deeply touched lives of those buried there all showed up at once (I know...who would think of such a thing?...me).  I think, in some ways we would be surprised at who would show up, and who would not be there.  More importantly, the ones who do appear would pack out the place, many desiring to stand by other's sites as well.

The Bible speaks of our lives as grass, a vapor all referring to brevity here on earth.  Yet we are destined to live something much longer.  Our lives, each one of them is a physical account of all who have lovingly invested, pouring their lives and wisdom into us, and for many, we will have an eternity to stand or sit with those whose lives led us toward this eternal existence and The One who made it all possible, Jesus Christ.

The longer I get to live, the more it seems revealed to me that life and its living is more about pouring into others, sacrificing our own self gratifying requirements such that others gratefully pour into us.  We are born the most needy of beings and without the care of someone nurturing us, we would surely perish.  The sign of maturity is moving from this requirement of care to being the one who lovingly gives it, not just to newborns, but spouses, kids, and friends.  We have the opportunity, every day, nearly every moment to come alongside someone who could use some care; some word of encouragement; some genuine love.  By doing so, it might be the act that would draw them to be one who would stand by our marker remaining here remembering the sweetness of our life touching theirs.

Next to every marker are the remains of a life who touched some.  My mom was overwhelmed by the number of people gathering at dad's memorial to honor him.  I am blessed to be the son of a man whose life unveiled the truth and way to live a life that was real and really spoke into the lives of others.  I hope and believe that what God has started will continue through me to my children and grandchildren.  I also trust that His work will do so into the lives of my beloved and all the friends and lives He carries me near.  May He touch the lives of those around us as He leads us through today.  It is the best we can do.