An Echo of Voices

Last Summer, we as a family spent several hours wandering through old cemeteries, giving me much time to observe the variety of tomb markings. Some of the grave stones were tall with an epitaph deeply engraved in it. Others were small stumps of rock barely peaking up through the overgrown grass. Some were decorated with roses and ornaments. Others were alienated and forsaken.

Walking through the cemetery for the first time, it was easy to let my mind think that the deceased with the derelict grave markings were the type of people that nobody had cared about, that no one had really noticed. Maybe they hadn't impacted people in the way the others had. Regretfully, my thoughts started to define the person by the stone in the ground.

As I paced through the gardens and weaved through the stones, my mind began to imagine the different lives of the individuals buried beneath me. I listened for the laughter of children running into their father's arms, the angelic melodies from carolers in the snow, the thundering boom of a Grandpa's chuckle, and the soft hum of a mother's lullaby. And as the voices drifted away, somehow my heart began to question whether it would be remembered with a fortressing pillar or a mere pebble, whether it would be adorned with roses or be abandoned beneath the grass. That is when I realized...Life is not defined by the grave. Life is not characterized by the stone. No, life is viewed by how long the laughter echoes, by how sweet the melody sounds, by how uplifting the chuckle becomes, and by how comforting is the hum. A life resounding with words and actions that ripple on forever is a life that is remembered.

I may not have known the names or the lives of the men, women, and children whose graves were hidden beneath my feet. But I did know that the condition of their graves did not effect the legacy of those individuals. It was their actions, their voices that will echo in the hearts of others.

And that is what my heart longs for...