Memorials and Making Memories

Today was a contemplative day.  It all started this morning with a memorial service for a friend who passed away much too soon.  She got the flu, developed pneumonia and was gone before we even knew she was ill.  She was in her mid-fifties.  She was so young.

It was a lovely memorial on a stereo-typical, cold and rainy day.  The room was filled with people from so many different spheres of her life.  It was such a glorious testimony to a life well lived. Our friend was so well loved, because she loved so well.

As is often the case, this caused my husband and me to pause and think about our own life's testimony and to question, "What would people say about us?"  I'd hope there would be a lot of laughter, as was the case this morning, with a sprinkling of tears.  I'd hope there would be friends and family, and hugs, and music, and praise, and rejoicing, and prayer.  I'd hope, like this morning, Jesus would be the focus... and I hope it will be a long, long time from now.

Unlike the family of this dear woman, my husband and I left that occasion and returned to a normal Saturday afternoon.  We ran errands together, baked a cake, and fell asleep on the couch.  We learned fancy new rhumba moves in our dance lesson, and sipped lattes as we talked in hushed voices at our favorite cafe.  We discussed grandbabies and weddings and how much we love this community, realizing the nine years we've lived here is longer than either of us have ever lived in a single community.  We shared how much we love running into people we know and care about everywhere we go and how wonderful it is to know people in different industries that we can call upon with questions or turn to for help.

As the sun, albeit hidden, sets on this day, I got a text from a friend.  "I couldn't find the Cavenders seasoning at Walmart.  Would these spices work for your fish recipe instead?"  I was able to text back, "I'll be there in 10 minutes," as I grabbed my canister of Greek seasoning and jumped in the car.  Six minutes later, I handed the spice to her husband and popped back home as quick as I had left.  It was a tiny thing, really, but its part of that good life well lived...having friends, sharing, smiling, doing life together.

Thank you, Connie Lynn Lawrence, for your life well-lived.  Jesus, thank you for the reminder, through Connie and her family, of what matters most.