The Graveyard Walk

Wandering through a graveyard the other day (yes, I know how to live life to the full!) I began looking at the gravestones.  Memoirs of loved ones, scattered across the lush grass.  I felt the love and care, and pictured lives being lived.  Some were simple, some more elaborate but all were people who have been loved.  

I began to wonder what would be on my gravestone.  What would I like people to write so the world will know I once existed?  A life so fleeting as a breath in the wind surely has to be commemorated somehow.  I thought of phrases I might write down for the boys so that if they were ever in the position of organising my gravestone, they would know what I'd like.  Or should I leave it to them to decide?  In 100 year's time when someone walks / flies past my gravestone, what do I want them to know about me?  How will I be celebrated?

And then, like a blow to my windswept forehead, it hit me.

It doesn't matter.

What others say is not important.  What others think is not important.  Even in death, here I am trying to live for the approval of others.  

Whether they write 'Wonderful mother, grandmother and wife' or 'grumpy old bag' has no significance.    

The only approval I need is that of my Father in heaven and He says I am accepted, loved, cherished and secure.  He delights over me with singing.  Seriously?!  He sings songs of love and celebration over me.  

My significance in this world and the approval I need to live for doesn't come from my friends, my family or a random person on twitter who might retweet the odd comment.  It comes from my God.

And so, beautiful gravestone or not, when my life's work is done, I will be satisfied in Him because He is satisfied with me.