Bury My Heart

Anytime I travel to Ramah, the visit always includes a pilgrimage to the town's cemetery.
This is where my ancestors are buried--those who have "gone the way of all the earth"--
my people.
This place is not morbid to me because it is the resting place of those whose stories I know. Some because their stories have been handed down and some because I knew them and loved them in their lifetime.

I am drawn to this place because of the connection I feel to these people
who went before me. Whose choices affected my life.
Whose sacrifices paved the way for me.
Whose legacy of FAITH laid the foundation for my faith.

These gravestones rise up out of the dust and tumbleweeds of the harsh land that challenged
the people buried here.

I usually go about my business not even thinking about my own mortality or where
I would like to be buried.
But when I am standing here, I feel a pull and I want to be buried here
among these people.
This time, that pull even reached out and tugged at Andy's heart.

As we were driving back to my Grandmother's house, he asked me if I wanted
to be buried there. He said it was really the only place on earth that we both had a connection to.
He served his mission in the area and spent five long, challenging months in Ramah.
I was surprised to hear him waxing a bit sentimental about a place that he really just tolerates--
sort of the price he had to pay because he married someone whose ancestral home was
literally in the middle of NOWHERE--the end of the earth--the lone and dreary world with
no cell phone service.

Really, you would consider being buried here?
I know the perfect epitaph for you:

"This is the LAST time I drag you to Ramah
I promise"


Popular posts from this blog

Just Another Gardening Post

Forever is Composed of Nows

The Truthist Takes the ACT