My Epitaph—What will it say?
It crossed my mind the other day—and I always figure if it crossed my mind, perhaps it has crossed yours, too. What thought veered in my direction and came to my attention?
I began wondering what could be written upon my tombstone? What words I the form of an epitaph could speak from the grave that might be an encouragement to those passing by? We’ve all wandered in a cemetery or two and some graves just speak more loudly than others.
Some have an artistic flair to the stone itself. Others encase a picture to match the name upon it. Some have a verse, others a personal note, while others mere names and dates. Some look like monuments never to forget whose remains lie below and hopefully whose souls are now above.
A few words etched are a tad self-containing while no quote at all leaves it wide open for others to fill in the dash between the years. Once, I saw a picture of someone’s farm etched upon it and to be honest, it was kind of cool. Some place benches nearby for those to rest while my favorite of all, is a gravestone in a small country cemetery near our farm. A little sheep carved just in front of the tombstone beckons the little children to come nigh. It’s not the sheep that I like so much as the reactions of little children as they make their way on over to place their hands upon it while climbing on up and over—like children do.
Each time we were expecting a child, I’d wander in-between the rows of graves looking at the names of the saints who’d gone before us. Gathering ideas for a name was a fun and the hope of seeing one I liked was rather appealing. Meandering past the generations that once were, no name ever stood out except one. The name was Amalia. We did not use it, but the name sounded like someone I’d want to gather round the kitchen table with for conversation.
Speaking of names, Denton Alden was dad’s name. He never could figure out why any of his six children didn’t pick up on that one. The conversation often ended rather quickly as the silence was tell-tale that no one had the heart to say aloud what we were all thinking. Noone wanted to name their little child Denton or Alden—but we assured dad of our love just the same. (Forgiveness asked for from all of the Dentons and Aldens out there—it’s not that I don’t like your name, it simply didn’t make it to the top of the list.)
Now, back to the idea of an epitaph upon my grave. It stirs within because every so oft I do pass by a grave with words upon it and it’s as if they are speaking right to me. A sentence or two says that this one cared enough to communicate with those passing by, and I sorta like that.
The words spoken by St. Francis at the end of his life are nice. Perhaps I could borrow them. “I have done what is mine to do. May Christ teach you what is yours.”
Then again, perhaps silence isn’t all that bad either. Exodus 14:14 speaks it well.
“I will fight for you; you need only be silent.”
My words are not nearly as important as imparting His Word and isn’t that the truth. Once imparted, His Spirit hovers over and He will impart that which is needed. His Word sheds light. “Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path” (Psalm 119:105). May He have the final Word. Amen.
