There is something mysteriously comforting to me in standing or sitting by my dad’s grave. I know he isn’t there, but it provides a touchstone to the personality I know and miss. I stood in the warm sun, gazing down. I didn’t bring flowers. He wasn’t sentimental and I know they gather them up once a week before cutting the grass, and throw them out.
The warm sun on my back was inviting and I sat down on the brow of the hill beside his headstone, gazing out at the view. I could see the Harbor freeway, smaller roads, Terminal Island with its working cranes, and the Pacific. Somewhere in there is the hospital in which I was born. Around the corner from the cemetery are the social housing projects I lived in during my first year of life. I felt embraced by the place of my beginnings on this earth.
I love living in Scotland, and have moved away from wanting to live in such a sprawling city as this. But still, sitting on that hill, the dry grass beneath me, little black ants finding their way onto my legs and feet every so often…it was all so familiar, so welcoming. Home.
God is in the mystery. I walk my days between two places, loving both. Only the Lord can bring it all to a happy conclusion, tie my life up with a big red ribbon one day, soon or not so soon.
Good to have time to reflect. To sit. Rain is in the forecast, even here, and I may not have many days for sitting and staring, absorbing the place.
Grateful today for the Valentine our Heavenly Father has given us all, the gift of life itself. Thank you Lord.
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