Toward the rising

26 09 2011

We move soon.

We’ve lived in this house for almost twenty years — a quarter of a lifetime — the longest George or I have lived anywhere. And a lot of living has happened here. Our youngest entered second grade shortly after we came to this town, and now he’s married with a child of his own.

We move soon, and I find myself observing more, trying to imprint this place on memory. Instead of breezing past familiar landmarks, I pay attention to detail, and sometimes I’m surprised by how much I’ve failed to see.

Sunday morning on our way to church, George drove past a graveyard we’ve passed a thousand times before, but this time my eyes caressed the contour of the land and the arrangement of the stones. I thought of the real people with real stories who are buried there, and I saw ghostly fragments of romances, marriages, childbirth, laughter, sickness, scandal, and shame. I imagined joys embraced and hardships endured — these once beating hearts with hopes and dreams, the cherished and the betrayed, the comforted and the disconsolate, all gone now. A parade of humanity with its marching bands and waving banners, all bidding for momentary attention from the cheering crowds — now silent. And what remains?

Then I noticed it. Marble headstones glowed golden, reflecting the sun’s early rays, and it hit me. All the tombstones faced east. Toward the rising.

Was it mere coincidence? I’ve visited enough cemeteries in my life to know that tombstones can face every which way, but still, I wanted to know.

After church I googled “tombstones facing east” and discovered that it wasn’t by chance. A licensed funeral director explained that, according to what he learned in mortuary school, tombstones often face east, “Because when the second coming of Jesus is supposed to happen….he is to come from the East. So when the person rises from the grave he will rise to see Jesus.”

He will rise to see Jesus. Yes! But not for the first time.

Before I even got home from church, I checked twitter on my phone and learned that Sara Frankl died Saturday night. Sara, who suffered much without complaint, pouring her life into those she loved, refusing self-pity, choosing joy, and leading the way for many to live awake, aware, and grateful for simple gifts. She loved God and loved people, and she left an imperishable legacy, because it’s written on human hearts and etched on the eternal souls of her friends.

Sara isn’t dead. She’s alive forever more, and though her body remains here, a shell of dust to rise incorruptible at Christ’s return (such mysteries!), even now she is free, breathing a fairer air, laughing with the fullness of foretasted joy. She’s absent from the body and at home with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8), where there are no tears, no sorrow, no pain, but rather all things new, whole, understood. She’s tasting the harvest, and every raindrop that ever fell makes perfect sense now.

And I think of that graveyard again, its tombstones ablaze, a reminder of the real. Death is the hardest good-bye, but our hope in Christ promises us it is temporary.

We move soon, away from a community that has loved us well for almost twenty years. A quarter of a lifetime. But what’s that to eternity? So I will think of Sara and choose joy as I say the hard good-byes, because I know they’re temporary.

When I miss this place, I will choose to remember the real. This move takes us one step closer to Home.

I’ll remember, and I will turn my face toward the rising.

Giving thanks in community for:

#247 – #264

Sara’s joy, once for all
Heaven, a sure promise
mystery
sufficient grace
peace that passes understanding
Psalm 139
eternal purposes, firmly established
generous friends
God everywhere, always speaking
real hope
Mallory Ruth’s safe arrival
the wonder of new life
George
provision
relationships
packing and remembering
letting go
comfort


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14 responses

26 09 2011
Patricia (Pollywog Creek)

Beautiful, beautiful post, Jeanne. And I learned something new…about tombstones facing east. This makes me think of Chris Tomlin’s song….”I will rise when He calls my name…no more sorrow, no more pain…” Tears mixed with joy for beautiful Sara and her family. XOX

26 09 2011
journeytoepiphany

May all of us continually face east, looking toward the return of our King.

26 09 2011
Jenn

This is beautiful. Thanks for sharing.

I’m new here, but I’ll be back. 🙂

30 09 2011
jeannedamoff

Welcome, Jenn! 🙂

26 09 2011
Sharon O

Beautiful and I never knew that story about facing east either. Sara is free now. She has no pain. For His Glory she lived and died, so others would remember.

26 09 2011
Lisa McLean

Thanks, Jeanne, for taking the time to make it so pretty. I’m enriched.

26 09 2011
Jo Ann

Beautiful post Jeanne. I didn’t know about tombstones facing east either. It’s funny the things we miss in day to day life. It’s nice to slow down and really “see” these things. Sometimes busyness can be somewhat of idol in life. I can see that in my own life. I’ve been taught to slow down and savor all the little moments. Thanks for the beautiful words about Sara. It’s an odd combination of sorrow and joy, isn’t it friend?! I’ve thought about Heaven more than I ever have this week and I’m so comforted at the thought of her being free of her earthly suffering and able to finally leave her condo and be with Jesus. So grateful for the legacy she leaves behind as well.

26 09 2011
Megan Willome

All the cemeteries around here are old (back to the 1800s), and they all face east. It’s glorious to see them at sunrise.

26 09 2011
Tina F.

I am sorry about your friend, Sara. What a beautiful story.

26 09 2011
Mary DeMuth

Beautiful post, my dear, cute, Dallas-ward friend. When you get here, let’s have a cemetery date. 🙂 Just kidding of course.

30 09 2011
jeannedamoff

Thanks, Mary Dearest. I would actually enjoy that date! Cemeteries have so many stories to tell. But we can go on other dates, too. 🙂

26 09 2011
Deborah Carr

I do thank you, dear Jeanne…for it was your previous post that led me to Sara. I, too, lost hours (gained hours?) reading through the precious moments of her life of joy. Your post first grasped me because I, too, have these feelings of being disjointed, and adrift…then somehow reading about Sara has helped me find peace with the drifting. May we all keep our faces oriented to the east.

26 09 2011
Melissa from the Blue House

I can never think of what to comment on your blog posts because my words can’t follow yours! Once again, this was beautiful.

30 09 2011
jeannedamoff

Dear Melissa, I always appreciate your comments and the generous heart behind them. Thank you so much.

Love, Jeanne

Your comments are a gift. Please know I read each one with gratitude.

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