For the first time since my clean pathology report earlier this week, the weather was good so I took a good long motorcycle ride. It felt great hitting the road, feeling the wind in my face, the sun on the back of my neck. The ride was cleansing, therapeutic. The events of the previous weeks seemed to unravel as I put miles behind me.
I passed a small cemetery with a little white church behind it, and felt compelled to pull in. As I strolled among the tombstones, reading the various inscriptions, I found three, a woman and two men, who had all died around my age, 50. That startled me, given my recent scare with cancer. Is that all I could hope to be remembered with at the end of my life, some words carved in a faded tombstone? A date of birth, a dash, and a date of death? 100 years from now, would anyone even recognize my name, much less anything I lived for, achieved, in that little dash between the dates?
I sat on the steps of the little church, looking out over the cemetery, and prayed. Its not about me, or how I’ll be remembered. I thanked God for the second chance, the sparing of my life, and dedicated my remaining days to living solely for His glory, and the spreading of His Kingdom. If I can leave a legacy of love for God and love for people, in my family, my friends, any I can influence for Christ, then that will be my epitaph. I’d rather not leave behind a tombstone and grave plot. I want to leave behind a trail of Christ-followers, who make other Christ-followers, generation after generation. That inspires me, motivates me, for my days (and hopefully years) ahead. To God be the glory.