Remember. . .

by Shauna Brown 

      I don’t recall my earliest attraction for cemetaries. I only know that I am drawn there. Perhaps it was the many Memorial Days that our family spent filling Mason Canning Jars with bouquets of Iris, Daisies, Lialics, and Mums . We would drive to various cemetaries and almost ceremoniously we would place our fragrant remembrances on the head stones of our loved ones. There were stories shared and sometimes even the shedding of tears.    

     I laugh now thinking that perhaps my enchantment for cemetaries came because of a song my Mother taught me.  Some chill with the lyrics, but it always makes me smile, as Mama sang it so dramatically when ever she saw a hearse. Yet, if death had a sting, my Mother shared a different slant on it.   Some might consider it morbid, at first I did, but somehow it can growns on you.  It’s reality.

    Humor me a little as I share the lyrics - for to stir a giggle from

 heaven.

    

     Have you ever thought when the hearse goes by.

   That sooner or later both you and I 

Will go riding by in that old grey hack

And never be thinking of coming back.

They’ll bury you down in the ground so deep

And there they will leave you forever to sleep

The worms will crawl in and the worms will crawl out

They’ll crawl all over your nose and mouth

They’ll bring their friends, and their friends, friends too,

And you’ll look like heck when they’ll through with you! 

        What?  I hear you say... you’re Mama taught you that?  Yes!  My own children still to this very day cringe when I sing  it.  I laugh just like Mama did.

   Just yesterday I was riding in the car with my ten year old, granddaughter Kate. As we were about to drive past a cemetary I watched with surprise as she inhaled a large gasp of air. She held her breathe, and her eyes began to bulge. Coming to the edge of the cemetary she then let out a gasp of relief. Clearly, I didn’t know what she was doing. Upon request  I soon discovered that a cousin had shared with her that if you leave your mouth open while driving past a cemetery - there are evil,  spirits that want to enter your body. So one must hold their breath.  I don’t know which is worse. Singing about hearses, or holding one’s breath until the cemetery is out of sight. Anyway, it is something new to smile about.

         Over the years my family have kindly tolerated my interest, and infatuation with cemetaries. We’ve been to hundreds of them. From Arlington National, to Anaconda, St. Peter’s Basilica to Sleep Hollow.  Tombstones get my imagination going, especially the really old ones that are falling over, sinking into the ground or have intriguing epitaphs. Little figures and symbols frequently decorated the face. Sometimes there are simple stories scripted in stone, leaving legacies and questions for generations. I’m fasinated with life and how we all must come to value it. 

Just a couple of weekends ago Rick and I were on a short get-a-way.  Taking a morning walk we happened upon a small and remote cemetery.  I was glad I had my camera in hand, and  I clicked away. I considered the cemetery a morning’s blessing. Rick knew we had to climb the hill to touch a head stone or two. I love the carved images and epitaphs, forever written. I read the names aloud and for a moment gave a silent ovation for a life lived. There comes a sence of purpose, even though you have never seen their faces before, or heard their names. Sometimes only partial name is visible, and some stones worn almost completely away. Yet, their plot and purpose in life still is marked and valued.  

       I have oftened pondered upon the sacred “Garden Tomb”, where the stone was rolled away -- for me. Where head wraps and white shroad cloth were momentarily worn, then folded and gently placed upon the burial slab, made of stone. 

          

          What would His epitaph read? 

     “HE IS RISEN"          “GOD'S SON”  

“HE GAVE ALL FOR ALL”      “HE CAME FOR ME”

“HE LIVED PERFECTLY” “HALLELUJAH!”  

“REMEMBER ME”  

       

      Everyone of us has the desire to be remembered. Jesus Christ  showed each of us our eternal value. Like the stone carver, Jesus knows the time it takes to engrave those words of significiance, as he shared:'

Behold, I have 'graven thee upon the palms of my hands; 

thy walls are continually before me.

                      Isaiah 49: 16

    

       “Continually before me,” no need to hold your breathe, just hold the knowledge that God is standing close by.  I believe Jesus Christ is truly interested in the details, even the smallest of details of our lives.  Sometimes in the unusual things, funny moments and sober times.  In fact,  I think that He laughed aloud as my Mama taught the song about hearses, death and decay.  

      Then he  paused, smiled, and reflected along as I was frequently taught of Christ. He was remembered. He listened to the significant stories and songs I learned about him, and to this very day I rejoice in Christ. He is my salvation, my Savior. 

      So instead of placing flowers on cold stoned memorials... I joyfully breathe in daily knowing that life has divine purpose. That I know I am loved - forever and ever. 

      We all eventually  die, and the worms will crawl in, and out, and we return to dust. 

    Yet, we can rejoice knowing that we shall live again. For it is His promise and plan.  

      Breathe deeply, and hold your breath at cemeteries. Just thinking. . . 

Enjoy your Sabbath

Love to All Shauna