My Eulogy

I died today. It was kinda crazy, really; I think it’s too bad that I only get to do it once because I’d almost like to experience it again just for the fun of it. Some people say that when you fade away from this world, you’re supposed to walk toward the light of the next. But it felt more like the light came to me, wrapping me in its warmth and assaulting all my senses with a feeling of HOME. And OH! how I love being here!!! I’m home now, finally home in the arms I’ve been aching for all my life.

But that’s not what I wanted to tell all of you now. You’ll have your chance someday to take that final step home, and we’ll compare notes and laugh about our different experiences then. For now, I wanted to address the matter of my eulogy. I noticed that some of you have already been scrawling notes and ideas, and I wanted to thank you for your good intentions, but let me offer a little assistance. I thought it would be much more expedient to simply send my own eulogy, transmitted through a willing source (thank you dear reader, for speaking my words to everyone. The colorful and welcoming slate of your sleeping mind was a delightful place to transcribe them). I didn’t want everyone to focus on my outward achievements or accomplishments; no statistics or recounting of deeds. There are more important things to consider when it comes to remembering the value of a life.

Here is my request: I want you to fill a canvas with faces. My treasures are the hearts that learned to beat to the rhythm of my Lover. My life was made full by leading lost sheep to the quiet waters of the Shepherd, watching their eyes widen with sight, hearing their little bleats of infant love as He healed their wounds and beckoned them forward. I loved racing around the suburbs and cities, making connections primarily with my peers, youth, and children, and teaching them about my Shepherd. It was my joy to lead them to the base of the mountain where He waited. The stream flowing there was so fresh and pure, the meadow safe and inviting. It was from there that the Shepherd would take them, loving, leading and drawing them further up and further into the mountains. Often I accompanied my friends as far as I could, but would ultimately turn around and run back down to the populated wastelands to invite others into the joy of the mountains where the Shepherd walked. My heart grew strong and my legs powerful as I raced up and down the hills, alternately bringing new sheep to the quiet meadow, and then following Jesus to the peaks with the others. Love made my eyes shine, Beauty propelled my feet to greater heights, and Trust made me leap across increasingly wider canyons and rivers, knowing that I was as safe as a small child under her father’s watchful eye.

There were many sacrifices though, and many painful decisions. It was hard and tiring living this crazy life, and through it I learned to follow in the footsteps of an ancient man who once wrestled with God for a blessing. I, too, have wrestled with God, and I have both the scars and the crowns to prove it. And it turns out that God has been very pleased with my passionate determination to be a warrior; I have no regrets.

Obviously, that is the more imaginative approach to describing my life, and there is so much more to say, but I think I will save it for another time. Simply, I loved my Jesus, I loved people, and I loved bringing them together. I learned to be a gentle yet fierce warrior fighting for lives, but keeping in mind that love is the ultimate weapon.

So when it comes to my memorial gathering, plaster the walls of the room with faces and fill the seats with the broken and beautiful immortals who heard the name of Jesus from my lips and saw Him through my life. I was stretched beyond limit but I didn’t snap. I was broken, but not erased. My feet were calloused, my breath short, and my body raw from weather and wilderness, but Love sustained me and has now brought me home. It was all worth it.

That’s what I want you to do when you gather for my final party a few days from now. That’s what I want you to remember.