Further In

Beneath the rich, dark earth they sleep
As time alone thus weathers stone
Through grasses long and lush I creep
Past crosses on which sunlight shone
Life visits death in reverence and leaves behind remembrance.

I was finally motivated enough to visit the little graveyard near campus this evening. I'd been meaning to take a walk there for the past 4-5 years but never actually did. I actually think I know someone who is buried there, a very old, deeply spiritual man who preached once or twice at our campus Christian Fellowship. I still see his wife from time to time. They are from a different period when life was more simple, people were more polite and everything was straightforward and no nonsense. I tried to find his grave but failed. 

It was already a little past 6pm but the sun was still beating down rentlessly. I had to walk with care as three quarters of the graveyard were overgrown with kneehigh weeds and grass and I often couldn't see what I was about to step on. The majority of the people buried there were Indian with a sprinkling of English or perhaps Eurasian names. Many of the graves implied that the person laid to rest there was poor as their only markers were plain wooden crosses with the painted inscriptions all but faded away.

Largest of all was an unmarked tomb fixed with two crosses leaning at precarious angles. The tomb of a married couple perhaps? Prettiest of all was a heavily engraved celtic cross, also unmarked. Perhaps the most touching of all was the inscription upon a stone slab set in the ground, all but invisible unless you looked downward, in memory of a daughter who died in childhood. And another tombstone in memory of 'Rosaline', beloved wife and mother who left this earth a little over a hundred years ago. 

Right at the end of the graveyard stood a slender, wooden cross that reached way up to the sky. In all the years I drove by I never noticed it before. It stood there, watching over the graves as if to say that death is only for a little while for Christ has overcome the grave.I always feel a twinge of sadness whenever I read a particularly moving epitaph especially if it came from a time when poetic verse and scriptural references were the norm instead of what is now a series of numbers separated by a hyphen. I always wonder when eternity comes if I may meet the person who inspired the loving memories and be able to tell them I was there, I wondered about you and I remembered you.

My roommate and I were nattering away over dinner last night, talking about favourite fairytales from our childhood and about one in particular that involved three wishes. Then idly she asked me, "Really, what would you do if you had three wishes."

"Wish for more wishes, doesn't everyone do that?"

Seriously though, my mind raced in all directions dreaming of what I would possibly wish for. Assuming wishing for more wishes and changing free will (eg. making someone love me) isn't part of the deal my most probable three wishes would go something like this.

I wish I could do something I love like being part of a worship team that travels the world ministering to people through music, telling them about Jesus and conducting concerts and workshops at any church in any city that would have us. In between I would free-lance in photography and writing. As part of the wish, my thesis would be taken care of so that I could be free to pursue my real passions.

I would wish for courage to share the Gospel with my family and to anyone in general. Courage to do the right thing all the time regardless of the retribution. Courage to speak my dialects and Mandarin. That may sound funny but most of the time I don't speak much dialect because my command of it is embarassingly poor. I have to rack my brain to come up with the appropriate word and then say it without my intonation playing tricks on me as it often does. But if I had the courage to try I probably would improve and if I could improve, I could strike up conversations with so many more people who don't speak English at all and I could actually tell them about Jesus in a language familiar to them.

Finally, I would wish that my parents could love each other again. I know that goes against the human will but I really wish that would be possible. The way I see them treat each other sometimes makes me doubt that they still love each other despite some 33 years of marriage. 

Ultimately I know a fairygodmother isn't going to materialize out of thin air, wave a wand over my head and grant me my wishes. But talking with my roommate made me realize I don't need a fairygodmother, a genie in a lamp or any manner of wish-granting manifestations. That is because I have a God who is real and alive, who doesn't limit me to three wishes but instead allows me unlimited prayers. A God whose love for me is so deep and wide and high that it's incomprehensible listens to all my prayers and answers them according to His perfect, pleasing will. I know the answer may not be the one I seek but I can trust that it is always, always the best answer for me because no one else could know me better than the One who caused me to be.