Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

humility

When the measure of a life is immeasurable

So, it happened again this week. We took our kids to another funeral. And like last time, they were full of questions, mostly curious.

This time, we arrived early enough to greet the family as they stood next to the casket. While in line, Phil asked if we should prepare the kids for seeing the body. It had completely slipped my mind that they might wonder about that. So, I knelt down and told them that the body of the woman, Ruth, was lying in the casket, even though she was already gone to be with Jesus. I told them they didn’t have to look, that they could just hug and shake hands with the family. As we approached, they peeked in and then gave hugs to the family. Our 4-year-old kept asking me why she was lying on that bed? I tried, and probably failed, to answer him well.

Later, he asked me why she died. The service was going on, and he was whisper-shouting his question so I told him we’d talk about it in the car. When it came time to answer him, I asked for clarification. Did he want to know how she died or why people die? Of course, it was the latter.

Fortunately, my seminary-trained husband explained creation and death and resurrection to him. It may have blown his little brain but we’ve heard the things he comes up with so I have no doubt he’s been taking it all in.

Why do people die?

Don’t we all wonder that from time to time? I mean I think I know “the answer,”  at least in part, and I’m no longer afraid of the reality that all of us will face it someday.

What bothers me more is how do I live with that information?

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She was 92, and we barely knew her, but her son and his wife have been quietly and powerfully influential in our spiritual lives. We watched pictures from this woman’s life scroll on the video screen, and as words of remembrance were spoken about her, I thought about how much more there was to her life than a few words and pictures can show.

Behind each picture was a story that only the one pictured could tell authentically. Behind each word spoken were a thousand more.

More than nine decades of life, and I wanted to imagine each and every year, to listen to stories of faith and survival, loss and fulfillment.

I continue to be struck with and motivated by this truth:

Generations are passing away, and we have no idea what we’re losing. <Click to tweet.>

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A person’s life is seldom summed up in the words shared and pictures displayed at a funeral. The legacy of their life is an unseen force whose reach is unending. Such was the case with Ruth.

She did not leave behind scores of family members or great big accomplishments. She raised a son to know the Lord. He, in turn, has raised countless spiritual sons and daughters to know the Lord and know Him better. And those sons and daughters of the faith are scattered far and wide. It’s not the kind of influence you can measure or count. A life that might appear small on paper could, in fact, be larger than life itself.

My mind can’t comprehend the importance of this woman’s life, how her faithful service to God and her family and those around her impacted me and my family and will impact our children. She would not have known my name, but hers I will not forget.

Maybe it’s just that I’m getting older or I’ve seen more of what’s really important, but funerals are some of the most moving experiences I’ve had lately.

I’m sorry that people have to die and families have to grieve but I’m not sorry for the opportunity to reflect on a person’s life and influence.

Because in considering others’ contributions to humanity, I’m forced to consider my own.

What’s important when my life is over? Is it a room full of people saying kind words about me? Is it pictures of fun times, experiences of great joy? Is it a long list of survivors who carry my genes?

Or is it something more than all of that?

(Getting older also means I have more questions than answers.)

It is easy to live a measurable life, the kind that would accomplish a full funeral home, a long line of mourners at the door, a large family gathered to remember (and none of that is bad, mind you).

But it’s harder (difficult? nearly impossible?), I think, to live an immeasurable life. To do small things with great love, as Mother Teresa is quoted as saying, with hardly any thought of legacy or influence. (I say “hardly” because can we ever fully separate ourselves from that thought?)

When I consider Ruth’s life, and the quiet but powerful lives of others who’ve died, I am left with these questions:

Do I want people to mourn my death for moments and move on? Or do I want to have lived the kind of life that continues to influence people long after I’m gone?

I don’t know how much choice I have in the matter. The kinds of people I’d consider among the latter probably didn’t think much about themselves at all.

All I know is that the people I’ve been most influenced by probably had no idea they were doing it. So when I think my life doesn’t amount to much, maybe God is doing something that can’t be measured or seen until later.

(And while funerals have given me much to think about, I’m also glad we have a wedding to attend in the fall. Because balance is a good thing.)

What do you hope you leave behind when you die?

Heard and not seen

© Robert Pernell | Dreamstime.com

Donald Trump’s getting a lot of air time and attention these days. (The Donald for president? Really?) But I want to talk about someone else on “Celebrity Apprentice”: Jack Jason.

If you don’t know the name, don’t worry. I didn’t either. I’ve been calling him Marlee Matlin’s interpreter for weeks. Until I googled him, I couldn’t have even told you what letter his name started with. He was introduced when the show started, and even though I hear his voice every week when I watch, his name wasn’t important enough for me to learn it.

In a way, I think that’s how it’s supposed to be. He is, after all, the interpreter, not the star. But I was thinking, while watching the episode where they filmed the commercial for the video phone, how hard it must be to not answer people’s questions with his own opinions. People talk to Marlee, but he answers for her, and even though he’s in the room and could give his opinion, that’s not his job. His job is to speak for her.

Last week, when Marlee raised $1 million for her charity, Jack cried his own tears. It was a meaningful moment for me. I’ve since learned that his parents are deaf, so charities that benefit those with hearing disabilities is personal for him as well. But it was a rare glimpse of how connected they are, and I was reminded that he is a person, too.

It must take a lot of humility to be someone’s personal sign language interpreter. You’re essentially a background figure. Necessary, essential and important, but your life is all about someone else.

Not unlike a Christian’s life. When we choose to follow Christ, we choose to become part of something bigger than ourselves. We choose to let God work through us, and ideally, give Him the credit for it.

That’s not always easy. I’m learning this myself. I used to think that I needed to write a book or have magazine articles published with my byline to feel successful at writing. My two most recent paid writing gigs won’t have my name prominently displayed anywhere on them. But they paid, and they’re writing credits. Glory be to God.

I’ve heard said that you can accomplish much if you don’t care who gets the credit, and I think that’s where I’m at with writing and God and the Christian life right now. It really isn’t about me, after all, and God can accomplish much more through me when I hang on to that truth.

Back to Jack Jason. He was Marlee Matlin’s interpreter when she won an Academy Award, and thus got to voice her acceptance speech. He said this about that experience:

“I flashed back to when I was eight years old [and] wrote in a school journal that it was my aspiration to have my voice be heard by millions of people as a DJ or a TV announcer. There I was doing just that. The moment was even sweeter as Marlee thanked her parents and I spoke those words, knowing my parents were in the audience too. It was a moment I’ll never forget.”

You can read more of his thoughts from that interview here.

I don’t know what your dreams are, but I know mine, and I’m finally coming to understand that God may not grant them in the way that I expect. And that’s OK.

It’s not self-defeating to not care who gets the credit; it’s freeing. If all I’m worried about is whether or not someone is going to recognize the work I do, then I won’t do much work at all. But if I join the work God is doing, and let Him get the credit, then who knows what might happen.

I choose to serve Him as faithfully as I know how, to communicate the messages He wants people to hear and forget about myself in the process. I don’t expect it to be easy. Humility never is.

And on a show where the objective is for the contestants to use their celebrity to win tasks and eventually be named “Celebrity Apprentice,” I’m grateful for the reminder that serving can still be celebrated.

When I tune in tonight, I’ll be watching for more than the stars’ antics. I’ll be seeking a lesson in humble service.