Death Makes Us Remember

Tuesday was the four year anniversary of my friend George's death.
As the day was approaching, I felt it was near.
It's weird how that happens.
But I was on a movie set on Tuesday, and I let the day pass without remembering.
Then yesterday I was reading about a writer, blogger, named Sara, who is dieing.
A lot of bloggers and writers know her well, I don't.
But I felt their pain. 
It made me remember George.
I miss him all the time.
I never see a guy mowing that I don't think about him.
Just the other day Evangeline and I were talking about him.

Almost a year ago our church family lost Jordan Gautreau,  a young man who loved God and life.
It's still hard to believe he is gone.

When lights go out in this dark world, they leave a mark.
I never knew Sara the writer but by the looks of the outpouring of love, prayers and kind words expressed on many blogs, I see that she has certainly left a mark.

My aunt Sue died in June.
She loved God and was kind.
One day her daughter Sarah wrote me on Facebook, "Glad I got to spend time with you when you were here. Mom brought us all together again, I think that was her plan all along :-)"
Aunt Sue dieing did bring a reconnection between us all.
It made us remember that we are family.
That we need each other.

Recently I had the opportunity to grab onto bitterness, offense, anger due to a situation and in my pain, I considered it.
But through the grace of God I chose forgiveness.
It's easy to talk of dieing to self,  loving unconditionally, walking in grace, etc.
But sometimes that is so much harder then the words we utter.
But then I remember death.
I feel the pain of missing George, my grandmothers, my aunt Sue, Jordan.
None of them died holding onto stupid offenses or even huge wounds inflicted by others.
It's not a cliche, it's true, life is too short and unforgiveness makes that short time miserable.

In the end, they held onto only love, forgiveness, grace.
They see clearly now and I still see through a glass darkly.
But I know that I want to live like I am dieing.
Like they did.
Like Sara the writer- that I don't know but I see her mark on others in her last days- is living and dieing.



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