The Measure of a Man...

I've harbored a secret fear I've never really told anyone about. I fear that at the end of my days, when my body fails me and death and decay win their final battle with my physical essence, that no one will care... Well not exactly no one, but not enough. I'm somewhat jaded, though - most of the funerals I've been to were fairly large affairs, and I always find myself thinking "Wow! This person had a huge impact on so many people". I fear that few will say that about me. I guess in the long run it doesn't matter what's said - I'll be long gone by the time those kinds of comments are made.

However... Somehow, I think I need events such as the funeral I attended yesterday to remind me of my fear, and allow it to transform the way I relate to others. I think in some way, this is part of how God's grace works through these kinds of tragic circumstances to bring about newness and transformation in those of us left to carry the torch. I thought to myself "This is what a funeral should be like"... A celebration of a person's life well-lived, as told by those who were close to him. It was nearly two hours long, but somehow didn't seem long enough. I found myself thinking, "How do you summarize a man's life in a few pages or notes or a few minutes' time?" Of course it's impossible. The "stories" are told again and again, remembering vicariously through those who knew him best.

We all do this - whether consciously or not. I often find myself telling stories to my kids about how "Mama Gert" always came to visit for a few weeks in the summer, and always made me re-arrange my bedroom. And how "Papa Sullivan" always told me to come by their place before returning to college after a week at home. He always gave me a few dollars for gas, a coke and a snack. I tell stories of how they impacted me, how they loved me, how I miss them, even though I don't always express it like I want to.

I'm not sure why, though, I'm so pensive about this particular funeral. Maybe it's because this guy was near my age, and left kids behind that are the same age as mine. I probably won't tell "Jim stories" - I didn't know him that well. But I am somehow compelled to hold those close to me a bit closer, to seek new ways to embrace friendship in deeper ways with those whom I share friendship, and to love my kids and wife better because of the sudden reminder that life is fleeting, and that the measure of my success at life's end won't be financial or numerical, but will be a measure of how well I've loved, embraced, and befriended.