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It’s hard to trust in a graveyard. There’s something dark and brooding there, waiting beside the plastic flowers. It seems especially lonely when the long black hearse arrives with the casket. A finality crouches, prepared to leap up and douse any gleam of hope.
Then comes God bringing a light breeze that stirs the grass and turns all the flowers toward heaven. “I will make everything new,” He says, as He chases the dark away.
For God, cemeteries are places to celebrate lives, guard His kids’ DNA, and plan for Resurrection. He sees beyond the crumbling concrete angels into living memories.
He hears their voices, feels their touch, joins in their laughter, and dries their tears. All this as He dreams of “making all things new” and as He plans how to entertain His family during their first week in heaven.
I sat in a cemetery recently on a metal chair with temporary green upholstery and a distinct lean to the left. There was a casket, a preacher, and a teary family. Grandma Dosa was 94, but it was hard to let her go. Then the preacher brought her to life.
Celebrating Life and Finding Hope
“This was in her recipe book,” he said, fumbling through the yellowing pages in a search for another special Dosa memory. He was successful, again and again. He read one of Dosa’s favorite poems about faith, an inspiring quotation from her favorite author, three more poems, and a favorite hymn, all filled with energy and joy. In those words, Dosa lived again with us. We smelled her cooking, heard her affirming voice, and felt her hug.
There was life in the memory, 94 years worth celebrating.
When the last prayer had been said, we released butterflies into the evening sky, once more celebrating Grandma’s life and God’s promise to guard her till He could “make everything new.”
Two quotes stand out from the words remembered at the graveside.
“Death is but a peaceful pause before the resurrection.”
“If you can’t see the bright side, polish the dull one.”
Sounds like an eloquent recipe for hope.
If you liked this, you might also like My Only Hope | Behold, I Make All Things New
Dick Duerksen writes from the Pacific Northwest.
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