Seeking Advice in a Cemetery
On Mother’s Day the cemetery director stopped me on my way to my mother’s grave site. He gave me fresh flowers and a poem. I thought it was weird that he was wishing me a happy Mother’s Day on my way to mourning my mother that lay in the ground. But, as weird as it was, I still laid the flowers on top of her headstone and read the poem silently to myself.
As I stood over her that day, I wanted to start digging. I wanted to ask for her advice. I wanted to know what she would say to me on my graduation day. I wanted to know what she would say about my job. I just wanted to know what she would say in general. I just wanted to hear her voice. I wanted so desperately to not be seeking advice in the middle of a cemetery where I knew I could not find it. While grief so often comes in waves when you least expect it to, you can always count on it greeting you at the cemetery.
I have been thinking a lot about God’s will. I have dwelled on how God’s will for my mother could mean her leaving this earth so soon — how God’s will for me could mean being a motherless daughter.
Moments before Jesus died on the cross he asked for God to take away his cup of suffering. Yet he still says for God’s will to be done. (Luke 22:42) The difference is Jesus knew what was going to come. He knew that suffering was ahead. We don’t know what’s ahead. What if we knew our cups were full of suffering — would we still humble ourselves before the Lord and ask for His will to be done? Probably not. We would be bitter and angry that our God, who is so perfect and good, would give us a cup full of suffering.
I don’t know what’s left in my cup. But, I do know that when I reach the bottom I will be spending eternity with Jesus. The end is what matters — God’s intentions for us is that He would be glorified in the end. We must make it our earthly mission to walk in Truth despite our pain — to praise Him even when it hurts and doesn’t make sense to do so.
I don’t have any answers as to why my mother’s life turned out the way that it did. But, I know at the end of her cup was eternity with Jesus. I do know that I will see her again. I can hold onto that sweet hope, and praise even in my pain. Until then, I will visit the cemetery. I will be greeted with grief. I will seek my advice, and fight the urge to start digging for it.
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