Friday, August 17, 2012

August 17, 2012

I’m always on the hunt for beautiful flower vases and, through the years, I have collected a few... always finding real treasures and most perfect vases at thrift stores and such; and always wondering in amazement what makes people give away such treasures.

It makes me feel sad in a way to think about these things... think about how these precious vases I collect today had once belonged to some caring soul out there who, perhaps even before I was born had treasured them and cherished them just as much as I do today.

Where they a gift from a loved one, or perhaps a trophy given in the name of forgiveness, or the reward of a long time friendship? And whose hands were those which held these dear little treasures before me? Hands which took the time to enjoy them and filled them up with precious posies from well tended and well loved precious gardens. Did these woman ever thought that some unknown person whom they'd never get to meet; nor ever thought of would one day be doing just the same?—cherishing that same precious vase they then held so dear to their heart; filling them with precious flowers from their own precious gardens? It's almost like being lost inside of someone else's life.

Like everything if life; we build, we give shape to things and amend hearts and nourish souls; we construct, we make beautiful things with our hands and bestow magic with our thoughts and desires; we create and donate our time without ever knowing who, 20+ years later, would be enjoying that which we’d created and own and so enjoy and treasure today.

How very daunting and frightening these thoughts are. And who will be enjoying this garden I have created here with such love and faith and tenderness, twenty- thirty years from now? What little girl, born or yet to be born will be cutting my roses and flowers, just as I do today? And who will be worshiping the Creator of all things where I pray every day—under the purple leaves of the smoke bush, under the same brilliant blue sky among lilies and roses planted and cared by me one day?

Indeed, it is a chilling thought. As it is with everything under the sun, the end of the living is but a memory in the memory of those who loved us, until finally that memory is no more—vanished we are from the memory of the earth. I do take great comfort in the thought that even if we’re to be eradicated from the memory of the earth; our names never again to be remembered by the living; yet, we’re not wholly forgotten. God never forgets. We’re safe in His eternal memory.

And why would He not, in His eternal mercy and eternal love make new that which is consumed, yet kept wholly in His eternal memory?

Oh, I believe.

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