There is a cemetary across from my neighborhood. It has what has to be one of the worlds largest Sun Dials. I went in today to meditate for a few moments, and take a few photos. I was coming out of the chapel one day and met one of my parishioners from the church I used to serve visiting her husbands crypt in the wall out front. Today I noticed that she had joined him there last June, at the age of 86.
I wish each of you a Merry Christmas as I take tomorrow off from posting with a reminder that time is a gift, each moment a reality to be cherished. Those silent graves testify to lives lived, memories shared, and an end to their journey in this flesh. I watched as an attractive young blond sat in front of a marker in the Veterans Section. It was her grandparents grave. I checked....hoping she was not a widow of our current war.
I plucked some grass from John Washingtons grave. He and I sat next to each other in the Choir until he died almost three years ago. I inherited his inability to organize my choir music. We would be singing for two minutes before John could open his music. He gave his life to the Army, education, and to his love for music. As the only black man in the choir he often teased us white folks for our lack of rhythm. I am thankful his cemetary is not John's final resting place, but around a table fellowshipping with the redeemed. Merry Christmas to all.
1 comment:
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