Epitaph of Life and Death

Last week at the discussion group I helped start, the people who were leading this particular week suggested we do an exercise where we would write what we would like people to say about us after we died. Whether that be what virtues we stood for or just a sentence that summed up what we wanted our life to show, we had to write down what we wanted to be remembered for. Honestly it is one of the darker moments to ponder, but I would argue that is one of the most necessary things to think about periodically. It is not something to dwell on, but it is vital to think about in order to keep our lives reigned in and in perspective. Some people confessed to never had really thought about the idea and admitted that it was hard to come up with something on such short notice. But with Relient k’s “Deathbed” playing softly to encourage an introspective yet retrospective look, these are the words that I penned:

“Garrison Smith was nothing more than a man who tried to live like Jesus, love like His savior, speak truth like His Teacher, lead like His King, create like His Artist, walk humbly like His Sacrifice, invest like His Rabbi, and glorify the God who purchased a wretched sinner, saved a dying man, and rescued a broken heart in order to fully restore and sanctify a shattered life as a testimony to the love and grace God showed on a beaten, bloodied cross.”

With conviction I read over these words. Wondering if there is any way that I could possibly live out that kind of life. The words loom over me, awaiting me to conquer a seemingly daunting task like that of Everest with the pinnacle smirking as if it knows it will take me alone. But the only way I will know if these things will be said is if I make them happen while I still have time to define them. While I understand I cannot do it alone, I realize that there will be a cast of characters to encourage, strengthen, and spur me on the whole way. None more important that the Savior who waits alone at the top, braced against a wind-worn, rugged cross. And when I reach the final peak and crest the final face, I will see a face that smiles a weary, yet welcoming smile. While my battered and beaten body crawls on all fours, he lifts my head with nail scarred hands and speaks the words my soul longs to hear with a gentle, authoritative voice: “Well done my good and faithful servant. Welcome home.”

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