As Christ loves

On a Monday, I sat between my mother and father, attending a funeral of a long-time family friend. The casket was draped with a new, crisp American flag. A team of two Honor Guard officers stood vigil, one at the head and one at the foot of the casket; teams of two uniformed officers rotated every eight minutes until the service began. This was a ceremony of honor, unity, and brotherhood, but it extended far beyond his 26 years on the force. Before becoming a police officer, this dear gentleman was drafted into the U.S. Army and served in Korea. Perhaps the only thing that surpassed his love of serving his fellow man was the love he shared with his wife of more than 65 years. Born from that union were two children: a daughter and a son. The son grew up with my brother, and they formed a brotherhood of their own, still best friends to this day.

Funerals are interesting for many reasons, one of which is that each person who signs the guestbook represents a page or a chapter from a person's life. The people sharing a pew may or may not know one another, but they each share a connection with the deceased. In this man's life, I was the strawberry-headed, freckled-faced little girl across the street at whom he smiled and waved every time he saw me: he always greeted me like I was sunshine, no matter the weather. From hearing stories of his life, I realized he was the sunshine, always willing to lend a hand and ease the burden of another. He was the epitome of a serviceman. And in his life, his highest service was to Christ. From this, all else flowed.

Two days before the funeral, I stood amongst a crowd of people, most of whom I did not know. As I opened the Wreaths Across America program, I realized I was not standing upon decomposed bones but walking amongst chiseled names of heroes, dreamers, fighters, children, lovers, caretakers, and workers. All buried were once breathing and standing; they had good and bad days, fears, wins and losses, passions and priorities, and perhaps nicknames and funny quirks. They laughed and cried and probably had someone in their life who laughed and cried with them. I imagined their presence beside my own, and it humbled me beyond words. On this particular day, townsfolk gathered to honor 800 veterans buried in the local cemetery: men and women who gave their tomorrows for the freedoms we have today.

The first wreath I staked with an American flag in front of a tombstone was of a young man who died in the 1800s. As instructed, I said his name aloud. I fluffed the wreath's greenery and adjusted the red bow, wanting it to look as nice for this young man as if I were also honoring his mother, who probably paid him many visits before her death. He was only 18 years old. I prayed for him, and as I prayed, I felt a sincere, almost tangible unity and obligation that extended beyond the grave and time. I thanked him and prayed that I would never forget and continue to pay homage to all the veterans and active military by how I choose to live with the freedoms I have been gifted. In this regard, we are servicemen and women called to duty to help, love, serve, and support one another. May our service flow from our devotion to Christ.

One day our earthly body will breathe its final breath. Until such time, as Believers, we are free to hate, be selfish, and snub our neighbors, co-workers, or passing strangers. But as Christ-followers, wouldn't it be more fitting to use our freedom to love? To forgive? To extend grace and gratitude? To honor Christ's sacrifice for us by exemplifying Christ's love in how we serve others?

As a once strawberry-headed, freckle-faced little girl, I can attest to the lasting effect of having people in my childhood invest in me and love me as Christ loves. May we live in such a way that when people remember our life, they remember more of God's grace and love through us than our sinfulness. May those who gather on the day of our funeral share the connection of feeling valued, loved, and seen by someone whose life on earth may be over, but their investment — their sunshine — still glows in all who felt their warmth and love for Christ.

Postscript: To my oldest son, this will be our first holiday season apart. Thank you for your active military service and sacrifice as you remain deployed with the 101st. Son, know that you have never lived a day without being fully loved and prayed for. I will continue to pray for you and all those in the military who will not be sharing the holidays with family. God bless you. Take Jesus with you. And return home safely.?