Today's memorial service for Pastor Ed (see previous post), brought to mind what I often think about . . . a person's history on the back of the memorial program. Most of us have heard that the meaning of someone's life is found in that little dash between the date of birth and date of death. It isn't just the accolades, the accomplishments, how many children they had, and where they lived. What's missing are the things that remain private -- the failings, needs, temptations and stresses -- and most importantly, how they handled those. To be human is to experience the gamut of what your life throws at you. How many times do you actually tell someone how you feel before they die? How difficult is it to say, "I love you." Or, "You've had a positive impact on my life. I hope I've done the same for you." And there's plenty more. "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." I realize that one can't learn all they want to know about a person before the end comes, but being just a little too wrapped up in one's own self can really put the damper on trying. I'm living testimony. There were many good things that I suspected about Ben, but I did not experience the impact until he was gone. This came from little stories people would tell me about how he affected them, little things he used to do that I now have to miss, little things he used to say that didn't have meaning until now. Ben was a creature of habit, his life was fairly orderly. Mine was very spontaneous. Oh sure, I try to eat when I'm hungry, brush my teeth maybe twice a day, go to bed at somewhat the same time every night, but it's not the same as Ben's kind of "orderly". He never missed someone's birthday, or sending a sympathy card, or meeting the guys for coffee, or keeping his papers in order. These are lessons I had to learn the hard way . . . after the fact.
So, over this past year, I've been on a mission . . . to think about others more than I do my "self". Starting with this: since I lost my mother, I have come to know my dad so much better. I see where I came from, and I appreciate the way I was raised by both of them. I was a lucky child. I knew what discipline was, good food on the table, decent clothes to wear, great brothers and sisters, and a good Midwest upbringing. I don't know why on earth anyone can't get to know me as well as they'd like to before that other date is put to the right side of the dash. Believe me, it wouldn't be difficult. I'm not a complicated person. (But that's just my opinion!)
What I hope I've conveyed is this . . . the next time you read someone's life story (I still don't like the word 'obituary'), think not only about what is written there, but about what that person really was to you in that little dash called "Life". BUT, and most importantly, do it long before you ever set eyes on their memorial story.
Photo credit: my sister Mary
1 comment:
Very thought provoking..Thank you
Post a Comment