In one of the scenes in the 3rd Reverend G book, she wanders around a cemetery. Recently, I found myself doing the same thing.
Isn’t it odd how often life imitates art?
Since I was in my hometown for a book signing, I stopped at the cemetery to “visit” with Dad and all the other relatives. Yes, I know Dad isn’t really there, but this is the place that represents closure for me.
I don’t believe in talking to the dead, but I often ask God to talk to Dad and others for me. I imagine the group of saints sitting in chairs like the scene in “Our Town,” that great cloud of witnesses mentioned in Hebrews watching me as I roam among their graves.
I stopped in front of the gravestone that represents the woman who led me to Christ. “God, oh God – tell Matilda how much I appreciate her. She told me about Jesus and helped me understand how to become a Christian. What a wonderful woman she was!”
“And God, here’s Lydia’s shell. She taught Sunday School when I was little. Tell her thank you, please. She was a sweet reminder of your love.”
The tune of “Thank you for Giving to the Lord” by Ray Boltz filtered through my soul.
“And God – here are Dan and Alma – neighbors who flew to heaven just eight weeks apart. They loved each other and they loved you.”
My father-in-law, Jake. “Tell him, God, how much I loved him. I miss him.”
The grandparents and great grandparents I never knew. “Do they know about me, God? Are they proud of me? Are you?”
So many babies’ graves. In the 1800’s and early 1900’s, so many little ones lived only one or two days. Was it SIDS or a childhood illness, something simple like the croup that we can cure so easily now with antibiotics?
I imagined God watching over his heavenly nursery and loving each baby.
Then I knelt before Dad’s stone and brushed some of winter’s dust from his name. A few tears, a soul hurt. “The family will be together soon, Dad – at the farm. I loved being a country girl. Mom is in assisted living now. She has Alzheimer’s, and she still misses you. We all do.
“Do you know, Dad, that I’m a published author now? Has God told you about my books? Some of your life and your journey is in those books. Those years of dementia, as you struggled to communicate with us and then just stopped talking – I used those experiences in my plots. I wanted caregivers to be encouraged, to know they are doing holy work, caring for their loved ones. Ah, Dad – I miss you so much.”
A wind blows through the trees, rippling the cedars that border this Mennonite cemetery. All alone in this place of legacy and influential lives, I sing that old Easter hymn, “Lo in the grave He lay, Jesus my Savior. Waiting the coming day, Jesus my Lord…He arose. He arose. Hallelujah Christ arose.”
As I leave the cemetery, I add my own hallelujahs, anticipating the day when those graves will open, the bodies of those saints will join their souls in heaven – and I, thank you Jesus, I will be close behind them.
©2014 RJ Thesman – “Intermission for Reverend G” – http://amzn.to/1l4oGoo
Well done Becky!!
Sent from my iPhone
Thanks, Ron! And thanks for the encouragement of reading my blog!
I love being alone in a cemetery, too. Recently, I started getting acquainted with my Mom’s “neighbors” who are not related to us at all. There is a very large cedar tree just next to her and my step-dad’s spots. I read the name of the minister who lived into his 80s, and died in the early part of the last century. Then, peering under the lowest branches of the cedar tree, I found the marker for his much younger wife, who only lived 30 years or so. I am intrigued. Did he never remarry? Are the others nearby with the same last name their children, or nieces and nephews? I, too, cried for all of the little babies. So much heartache to endure. But, here, with Mama’s memory nearby, I find peace and comfort. Love your blog, Hug your Mama for me when you see her!
Thank you, Jenny. Couldn’t we just make all sorts of short stories from the imaginings in a cemetery? Just like you found in the younger wife who only lived 30 years. Why did he never remarry? Who are the graves nearby and what are the stories for each of them? I guess this is why it’s so important that we write our life stories. At least our loved ones will be able to figure out when and how we lived. Thanks for the encouragement about my blog. I so appreciate your comment!