There were happier days. The remembrances, the things done then, the joys of their experiences were from happier days. The smiles and laughter were apparent in the pictures now posted on the boards around the room. Sparkles dancing in aging eyes as they recalled the joys they shared. Occasionally there was a tiny seeping from the corner of the eyes both for joy and sorrow. They smiled those tight little smiles of strained faces desperately seeking to maintain the composure their dignity demanded. It was a somber atmosphere of respect and admiration for the greatness of the one lying in the front of the room full of chairs.
Soft hearty greetings, subdued conversations giving honor to the impact of this life which had touched many so well. Touching and being touched, seeing well remembered faces, some barely recalled at all. Waves at familiar faces across the room, whispered questions of their forgotten identities. Some longed for answers to serious questions, others lightheartedly opening themselves with self deprecating humor, all with sadness and joy mingled in. Well spoken commendations , open hugs, extended handshakes, all for the honoring of the departed. All for the comfort of the grieving.
In birth and in the life which follows we seek the joys of being together. We grow. We learn. We love. We experience all life allows and we do it well together. Offenses enter in. Grudges are held for a time and then forgiven. There is a well worn phrase, “Do not let the sun gone down upon your wrath”. The sun had gone down on this life, There was no more space for anger. We compare ourselves. We compare our thoughts, our values, our means and our methods. We exalt success and disdain anything we measure as less. Those we admire seem to have some but not so much as to deceive them from true treasures. The balance of life is in the passing and not in the having and holding. What we pass through our hands is of greatest value. That which is held is restrained from growing. It is like a small tomato plant in a plastic tray with a ball of roots. It will not grow higher until it is given the freedom to spread out on its own. Held in the tray it is bound. Planted in the garden it is free to produce that which brings joy. Ideas are stunted when not challenged. Gifts are tarnished when not given. Life itself is not truly lived when it is not fully loved.
It is not the length of it which measures greatness. It is not the counting of the names of those who were touched. Rather it is the path which has been plowed giving place for the new to grow. The legacy is not in the remembrances of accomplishments, that is merely where it starts. It is the continuing, the birth of those who will imitate and duplicate that life which declare its legacy.
Common folk often make uncommon impact. Their plainness allows their mingling to be vast. They trust, love, share, accept and dare to believe the good which can be found in the souls they affect. They ferociously defend the oppressed among them. Standing for right is in their nature, not a selfish choice made to elevate themselves before others. Some lives are the standard by which others are measured. Some lives are simply well lived.
Many of us are uncomfortable when facing this crowning day. That which has been labored for is done. They rewards are established. The graduation from this life is at hand. That is what a funeral is to those who are still breathing. It is the crowning of a life. It is the testimony and judgment. It is the event of placing the bejeweled crown, the laurel wreath, even the thorns of indignation upon the the body of work which has ceased from its labors. For the departed, their crown was received the moment their chest became silent and motionless.
We are desirous of pleasure, of joys, of rewards from a life whose path is well chosen. We crave recognition, appreciation and acknowledgment. We are seen as farmers and lawyers, doctors and teachers, readers and writers, husbands and wives, friends and lovers. For some that is where we end. We cease to be declared beyond the end of those short descriptions. We are that and are happy to have been what we were to all we were known to. But there is another. There is one who sees beyond this life and all its beauty, toils, fears and loves. There is the one whose life brings us together amid a room of faces. Faces remembered, names forgotten, events of lives crossing and all intersecting on the life we are come to honor.
Lives well lived we honor as we aught Some born in March some in November. All recalled in great thought with Tapestries and flowers given to remember. Quietly reposed in honored estate, A last passing to remember the face; Then on to connecting with those yet alive, Who knew the one who has finished their race.Friends come and pass with love, respect and esteem. At this moment in life none living wants to be done with breathing and on to the unseen. Faith is a part of who we all are. Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen. By faith we hope for a life well lived. We see it as possible. By the fruits of our lives it is evidenced. Evidence in order to be admissible must been seen and not merely suspected. It must be known. Otherwise it is no more evidence but a wistful thought.
That which is held together in life is a fragile beauty. The cycle of life is to grow and glow and fade and pass. But that which is buried brings new life into being so the cycle may continue. God’s intention was recorded that a man should leave the beauty of his mother and father’s home to be married to the woman of his love and affections. The beauty of the home they create is fueled by love, shielded by obedience to God and refuses to be diminished by mistrust or disloyalty. Those who come out of such beauty cannot help but to reflect and resemble the life of the one who is honored.
The remembrances, the joys, the sparkling eyes, the hearty handshakes, the hugs and soft conversations all honor the life. We declare we need to stop meeting like this. Yet we will continue to do so until we meet for the last time as we are then remembered. A life well lived is high praise. The rewards are for the price paid in moments of choosing to live that life. Even in sorrows these are the happier days.