THICK LAYER OF MUD
Today's reading: Jeremiah 37-41

"So the officials took Jeremiah from his cell and lowered him by ropes into an empty cistern in the prison yard. It belonged to Malkijah a member of the royal family. There was no water in the cistern, but there was a thick layer of mud at the bottom, and Jeremiah sank down into it." Jeremiah 38:6

I don't like funerals. I don't care for the gladiolas that line the funeral home, the awkward silences as one stands before the casket or the sorrow wrapped into such a solemn time. And? And, I don't like the conviction.

Conviction, you ask? Yes, that's exactly what I dislike the most.

There's no more convicting a feeling than when you stand at a graveside pondering who the world has lost and coming up with the realization that what they showed/demonstrated/exhibited/practiced/lived is now up to the you to carry on.

Cases in point...

My Grandpa died 15 months ago. I'm convicted to know it's now my turn to carry on an honorable family name and fill my numbered days with the hardest work I can do. It's now my turn to take a role in this family that exudes strength and a fierce desire to do for others. It now falls on me, and the other grandkids, to make the mac & cheese Grandpa always made for family dinners.

Grandma passed 4 months ago. I'm convicted to know it's now my turn to carry on a strong faith and an enormous amount of love. It's my turn to exhibit a passion for God that affects every word spoken and every act carried out. It's my turn to stay up to date on every family member, their birthdates, anniversaries--and where there names are in the family book.

My adopted Grandfather passed this week. His services were yesterday. And today? Today I'm feeling alot like Jeremiah, bogged down in a thick layer of mud, heart heavy and thinking alot about what in his life I need to carry on. Friendliness, acceptance, love of life, determination and a strong will.

My Savior died a few thousand years ago. I'm convicted to know the depths of His love for me in dying on the cross--and the privilege I have of living out that love for others. I'm bogged down with the weight of importance being like Him places on my shoulders. It's now up to me to let others know just how wonderful He was.

I don't like funerals. They convict me to be more than I am.