My wife and I took a ride from our home in Seven Hill, Ohio to Painesville with the main intention of eating at a distant Waffle House. Half the fun in doing this was the ride itself. We take as many back roads as the GPS will point us to, which brings us through some interesting and lovely visuals.
On the ride we came across an extremely crowded cemetery. We're talking literally standing-room-only due to the lack of space for new graves. One thing struck me: each gravestone represented a life. A family. A story. Each was a monument of silence. And then it hit me: what story am I telling? The bible says we are "living epistles (letters) read of all men". When people look at me what are they reading? Will anyone remember "reading" it?
I have no children to carry on a legacy. I write a journal with the hopes that my nieces, and eventually their children, will take the time to actually read it. But that's it. I wonder if anyone will be at my bedside during my last moments. What's my story?
What about you? If you haven't, take a moment and think about this. One day you too will be represented by a piece of stone. What story have you told?
© Emittravel 2011
On the ride we came across an extremely crowded cemetery. We're talking literally standing-room-only due to the lack of space for new graves. One thing struck me: each gravestone represented a life. A family. A story. Each was a monument of silence. And then it hit me: what story am I telling? The bible says we are "living epistles (letters) read of all men". When people look at me what are they reading? Will anyone remember "reading" it?
I have no children to carry on a legacy. I write a journal with the hopes that my nieces, and eventually their children, will take the time to actually read it. But that's it. I wonder if anyone will be at my bedside during my last moments. What's my story?
What about you? If you haven't, take a moment and think about this. One day you too will be represented by a piece of stone. What story have you told?
© Emittravel 2011
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