“Hi, Rich! It’s good to see you!”
To which my friend replied, “I’d rather be seen than viewed…”
I instinctively recognize a Danism when I hear one, so I adopted this clever reference to the local funeral parlor as my own.
Which reminds me of something I heard another friend say when he was asked what he would like for people to say about him at his funeral. His answer: “LOOK! He’s moving!”
We are family,
We are brethren,
Kindred in a fallen race.
Fallen from God’s gracious blessing,
Everywhere but on our face.
Proud of all our vain achievements,
Prouder of things we’ve yet to do.
Choosing to ignore our weakness,
We’d have our cake, and eat it, too.
Wretched people proud and broken,
Who will save us from this death?
Praise to Jesus, eternal Savior,
Who gives the corpse eternal breath.
Your word is truth,
Your word is light,
Your word is Spirit,
Your word is life.
Silence is a womb into which Father implants life.
He is ever fruitful.
There comes a certain age.
Life has eroded away,
like a trodden path.
And there, revealed in the way, is a stone.
It is hope.
You did not know it was there,
Yet there it is.
You had hoped for something and did not know it.
And then, as life erodes away,
you realize the hope is broken.
It is unfulfilled.
And all this —
This all happens at the same time.
Hope is a seed laid in the ground,
A prayer for the lost until he’s found.
A yearning heart that waits at home,
A distant voice heard on the phone.
A melody in the dark of night,
A pale blue pledge of morning light.
A wisp of smoke before the flame,
A cloud that promises coming rain.
Dreams may fade,
And plans not last,
Hearts may grow weary,
But hope dies last.
(From ) The Butterfly and the Stone
So many have also lived.
I ponder here at my Father’s burial place.
It is a strange thing but I think he would be proud of me. If he could see me, I think he would be proud.That was always important to me.
I wonder sometimes if I see him more than he was.
I don’t think so.
I saw him when he stood among the giants.
I also saw him as a mere man.
I only prefer to dwell on his pride, not his failures.
He sometimes had vision without drive.
He was sometimes paralyzed by a sense of inadequacy and hopelessness.
But he was a good man—good to me; good for me.
By grace I can step over the faults that are part of his legacy.
Step over and build on what remains.
Yesterday is memory.
It is a teacher.
Tomorrow is in the hands of God.
Today touches eternity.
There are moments.
Gently, I think of you and smile.
Let us rest in one another’s arms
Not hurry from the warmth.
Wrap our memories together
Live them each again
Rediscover what we have found
Be grateful for love.
The garden is in ruins.
Icy curtain draped on frail limbs,
Fragile twigs like human hearts,
Too weak to bear the load.
Sin’s dark weight.
Wreckage upon the brow of earth,
Hopes strewn carelessly.
Brokenness scattered on the ground.
In such a garden the Father once walked.
Clear the fallen boughs,
Pile high monuments to winter’s vain fury.
For spring promises one bright flower.