I discovered something about myself today. Something I never even imagined I would say- I’m in love with cemeteries. Weird, huh? Well, it’s true, and I am beginning to embrace it. I love the way something so somber can also look so glorious in its’ cold, dark, and mysterious own way. Call me crazy, but for some reason I enjoy reading the headstones, staring at the crosses marred with moss, noticing the shadows the statues create against the beaming sun, kneeling down and taking a snapshot in time of the decaying flowers laid by loved ones, and gazing at the simplest of tombstones, yet realizing that they are the most gorgeous of them all. Cemeteries, although filled with death, have something lively about them which I can’t explain. While I was wandering around the cemetery, reading the snippets of the people’s lives that were buried there, I realized that everyone has some kind of story. I know that is obvious, but I don’t think we all realize how many people love us, or how many people love the people that surround us. I’m not preaching a lesson in morals, it’s just a realization on my part, that everyone is loved to the extent that no one can comprehend, in one way or another. The people buried in that cemetery were loved; loved enough to have a statue above them of a woman clinging to a cross with the phrase “Pray for us” etched in marble stone below, loved enough to have a plain tombstone with beautiful moss embracing it like a hug, loved enough to have a dead flowers laying parallel next to ones that are still thriving, loved enough to have an angel statue above them overlooking all of Queenstown like a guardian, and loved enough to capture someone’s memory. Call me crazy, but everyone is loved.
“I do not wish you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep, that ye may not sorrow, as also the rest who have not hope, for if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, so also God to those asleep through Jesus he will bring with him”
-1 Thessalonians 4:13-14
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