I love walking in cemeteries.*

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There are the days when you need to shut off the noise, and nothing does that like a walk in a cemetery. There is a reason for the expression “silent as the grave.”

Today in particular I need silence, so I leave my phone at home and walk to the nearby cemetery. 

The first thing I notice is the sound of my footsteps. (If I had my phone, I wouldn’t have even noticed them.) The sound is a reminder that I am alive. And I will be alive until the moment I take my last breath. This sounds obvious, but sometimes I need this reminder. Amidst the anxiety of life and the treading water of purpose, I need to remember that whatever my surroundings, I am still alive. And because I am still alive, I am still called by God to live.

I glance at the names on each stone. I say the names in my head and hope in some small way this keeps their memory alive and honors them. I take note of the dates. I even find my eyes moistening when my brief calculations prove a child is buried here. I grieve for them. Sometimes I even pray for their souls, which I am not sure is theologically correct, but I still think it’s OK to do. 

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I like to think that even though I love the silence of a cemetery, it’s OK to bring my children once in a while and let them play among the stones. I imagine that every person buried there would love to hear children laughing and running and using every second to just live their precious lives. Children are good at teaching us how to do that. And there is no more profound example for me than children running in a cemetery. 

Today I am thankful for my walk in the cemetery and the lessons I glean from it. I like to think the people buried there would be happy to know their bodily presence nestled in the ground can still play a part in instructing the living. 


*This was written earlier in the pandemic. Reading it now, months later, I realize it sounds pretty morbid. I don’t mean it to be. I think we always need to be reminded to move forward and live abundantly, even if we aren’t depressed (but let’s be honest - the pandemic has brought many of us to varying levels of depression!).