for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart. - Ecclesiastes 7:2
Yesterday, I attended the funeral of a man who was more than a family friend....he was part of the fabric of my life. Kim and his wife, Donna, lived just down the road when I was growing up. Their home was one of those places that always felt open, warm, and safe. I spent countless hours there, and looking back, I realize how much those simple moments shaped me.
Kim was the kind of man who loved you like his own. Your family was his family. He and Donna didn’t just say they cared......they showed it. Their love had hands and feet. It was the kind of steady, quiet goodness that makes life feel richer just by being near it.
Ecclesiastes 7:2 says, “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting…” That verse hits differently when you’ve just come from a funeral. There’s something sobering about standing in a room full of people who are gathered not to celebrate another year of life, but to remember one that has ended.
The death of anyone we have a connection to really does humble us. It forces us to stop the constant motion and take inventory of what really matters. Funerals make us think about death, but they also make us think about life.
About how we’re spending it.
About who we’re loving.
About whether the legacy we’re building will outlive us.
Verse 3 says, “Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better.” It’s not an invitation to stay in sadness...it’s a reminder that sorrow refines us.
Laughter fills the moment, but grief shapes the man.
If allowed, grief has a way of softening the rough edges on our hearts. It takes what once was hard and makes it tender.
It teaches a level of compassion that can’t be faked.
It calls us to a life of gentleness and understanding, because once you’ve walked through sorrow, you start to recognize it in the eyes of others.
You learn to speak more kindly, to listen a little longer, and to hold space for those who hurt.
Grief doesn’t just make us sad.....it can, in the hands of God, make us better.
That’s what I’ve felt since Kim’s funeral. Shaped.
Quieted.
Aware again that life is not measured by the number of days we live, but by the love we give.
It became even clearer to me while talking to a friend of mine who was there. Our dads were garage buddies and ran around together, so there’s a deep respect there that connects us.
I could feel the softness in his heart, and it had grief written all over it. The grief of losing a child.
A grief so familiar to me that I recognize it instantly. It has a voice that calls my name and a presence that greets me like an old acquaintance.
It’s the kind of pain that doesn’t just wound you; it reshapes you. His heart bore the marks of loss, but also the beauty of transformation. That grief has been what’s taken his heart and shaped it into what it is today.....tender, understanding, and real.
The grief called out what his heart was made of......what was deep inside, bruised from love, softened by loss, and awakened by the reminder that life is fragile and love is sacred.
When our own day comes to enter that house of mourning, what will matter most won’t be what we’ve built or owned.....it’ll be the hearts we’ve touched, the people we’ve lifted, and the love we’ve given freely.
So today, I want to love deeper.
Forgive quicker.
Laugh sincerely.
Be present with the people who matter.
Because someday, someone will sit at my funeral and think about life.
Comments
Post a Comment