Morning in the Graveyard

Some years ago the local cemetery committee needed a volunteer caretaker so I decided to do it since my father-in-law had served some years ago.  It is not a big thing.  It mostly is about making sure the upkeep gets done, pay any bills, and sell plots to those who want to buy them.  This morning first thing I went up to the cemetery in response to a call from someone ready to buy a plot.  When I pulled up, there was a woman sitting beside the graves of her parents.  As I spoke identifying myself, I noticed the marker which told me her mom had died recently which explained her presence and her early morning tears.    

It reminded me of a number of things.  First, it spoke of a reality we all know, but often put aside.  Christmas can be a rough time for those who have lost loved ones during this season.  And, secondly, it gave me a moment of reflecting on my own mortality.  It is not that I constantly am thinking about not being here, but as the years start adding up, it is obvious that I have been here more years than I will be here.   Time is precious.  It is the most precious commodity we possess and we tend to use it up like it is some inexhaustible resource.    

But, the most lasting thing I carried away from the early morning visit to the graveyard was a hymn written by Isaac Watts.  "O  God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home," is the first verse, but the one I found myself mostly singing quietly in my spirit was the 5th verse which says, "Time, like an ever rolling stream, bears all who breathe away, they fly forgotten, as a dream dies at the opening day."  While it may be a bit much for some, Watts ended with those words of triumph as he wrote, "O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, be thou our guide while life shall last, and our eternal home."