The Stones Whisper

I love to wander the grounds of old cemeteries. Sometimes hubby will go with me…but I often go alone. I love the stillness and quiet.

I walk among the trees that shelter and give shade in summer, brilliant colors in autumn with fallen leaves rustling across winding paths, and the starkness of bare limbs in the winter, that capture ice buds on cold frosty mornings. In springtime….the array and scent of colorful flowers, the budding trees awakening from a long winters nap, the soft feathery grass that bids me to take my shoes off and the gentle wind all speak to me of new life and that where I am is not the final destination.

I walk and I pray. I walk and read the old wind worn stones and try to recreate family ties with names, age and dates. The Stones Whisper to me…voices long silenced that yearn to be remembered.

I notice who in the family plot may have been well to do and those who had little, by the gravestones (or lack of) that adorn a small plot of grass. Some are large and works of art…others are just some concrete poured with a last name lovingly written with a stick. I see some with nothing but a small handmade cross, with names and dates crudely written by someone who loved, cared and shared a life.

I see fresh flowers or plastic wreaths with “Mom” or “Dad” in the middle. I see pictures of loved ones in small frames or beautifully etched in the stone forever frozen…not to be forgotten. I notice favorite items of the deceased... a used fishing rod, an old unopened Budweiser beer bottle with a rusted cap.

Angels, bibles, poems on stained glass, cute bare-butt cherubs, notes and letters….some written by grandchildren thanking Nana and Pawpaw for many hugs and kisses.

One sign between Dad and Mom said, “If we are not home, try Wal-Mart.” …on this same spot, are many trinkets…carefully chosen and bought mementos from Wal-Mart.

Many stones tell me these are the Mom and Dad…brother or sister…uncle or aunt or best friend of…and the names are listed…legacy branded in stone.

Then there are those small stones where the birth and death dates are the same. The graves of a mother and father who next to them you see 2, 3 or more small stones of children lost before the age of 5. I touch the small dates and my heart grieves for the mother named Abigail who lost a child every year for four years. There are many stones with scripture references…and I wonder how many really knew the One who was and is the Word.

I walk and I pay close attention to those spots where there is nothing…no stone, no marker, no flowers, no mementos…just grass covering someone who lived and died and only God knows their name.

The Stones Whisper to me. They whisper a reminder that life is fragile and short. Am I living it with joy and excited anticipation of what the next moment will reveal of God’s plan for me?

They whisper to me to be thankful for my life and my loved ones that still love, laugh, care and share in the flesh. Am I allowing the unimportant, the mundane, the petty worries or concerns or the daily urgents to rob me of precious time spent with all I love?

They whisper to me that no plastic flower, or picture, or any words etched in stone can bring them back to life or give us a peek at their final destination. Am I sharing the wonderful news and assurances of my life as a follower of Christ? Am I sharing that I have full assurance of my final destination and that it will be eternity spent with Jesus Christ and all believers who have gone on before me, as well as those who pass after me?

They whisper to me of voices from scriptures that tell me I will not find the living (or peace, joy, assurance, rest, or eternal life) among the dead…but only through the One who is alive and working in my heart every day.

"He is not here, for He has risen, just as He said. Come, see the place where He was lying. Mat 28:6

“Behold, I tell you a mystery: We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed— in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So when this corruptible has put on incorruption, and this mortal has put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: 'Death is swallowed up in victory.” "‘ O Death, where is your sting? O Hades, where is your victory?’ The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” 1 Corinthians 15:51

He who testifies to these things says, "Yes, I am coming quickly." Amen. Come, Lord Jesus. Rev 22:20

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