Following Sunrise Service, the foster dog and I trekked to a nature park north of the Metroplex. I needed solace. I needed nature. I needed space to think. I needed that same space to clear my head. To breathe fresh air, slow down, and be. To move and let sinew and bone and muscle grow weary and tired.
As we meandered the dirt trails, I stumbled across a small clearing leading to a small cemetery established in the 1800's. It called like a Siren and like men of old, I was drawn to it and stepped through the thicket. My heart slowed and a peace flooded my soul as the stillness of the place washed over me.
Representing life given and life lost, I surveyed the marked and unmarked stones. The contrast of kept and unkempt graves. Name. In memoriam. Year of birth. Year of death. As I surveyed the wildness about me, my eye was drawn to a tree with purple Iris germanica blooming underneath. A garden among the wilderness. Fruit amongst the barrenness. Life amongst death.
As I processed the Irises underneath a barren tree, my eye beheld another sight: grave markers tenderly cared for; flowers placed by loved ones living to remember loves ones lost. Some say it's wrongful family worship; I say it's remembering a loved one you don't want to forget and leave unmentioned. I smiled. I soaked it in. I remembered my own loved ones lost.
I stood still in the middle of the place, listening to the encompassing quiet immediately around me. Overhead above the trees crows squawked and birds chirped. Clouds covered the heavens, the sun hidden. I felt at home, at peace; breath no longer shallow, but deep, slow, and steady.
Standing in a place that's oft associated with death and brokenness and hopelessness, blooming Irises stood among it all representing newness of life. Wholeness. Hopefulness. A reminder of the goodness and sweetness of the Resurrected one we celebrate today.
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