Part I, Part II
I found an old friend the other day. She's been in the same place for 31 years, while I have moved around a lot...changing jobs and addresses and my last name. I've often thought of her and thought about finding her. I knew she was nearby, but never took the time to look her up.
So the other day when I had a couple of hours to fill between one thing and another, I found myself talking a walk in the sunshine surrounded by green grass, colorful flowers, noisy trees (I'm in 17-year-cicada country) and carved stones. Gravestones, that is. Cindy's was lovely...embedded with a rosary.
She was walking to school when she was struck by a falling light pole, which was falling because it was hit by a car driven by one of two guys who thought drag racing was a cool idea. As I remember it, she died a week later.
When you reflect on such a life - cut short in such a stupid way at 17 - it's natural to think "what a waste". And of course, it was. But no life - even one so brief - is without meaning. For here she was...remembered with love by those who had a relationship with her. This place is full of such memories. The dates on the stones reflect the longest and shortest of lives. My guess is that most of these graves are not visited at all any more, the loved ones who cried there long gone, perhaps even buried nearby.
Are the people who are not visited forgotten? By mankind, maybe. But not by God. For each soul that once lived in these earthly shells is dear to His heart.
And it is our relationship with God that is the most important of all.
(continued)
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