Walk Through a Cemetery

I walk through the cemetery alone. My feet tread lightly along the broken path that winds its way through the tombstones. Tree roots have broken through the old concrete in some places, making it dangerous to walk without looking down. In my peripheral vision, the sky is cloudy and gray, promising rain. I shiver at the chill in the air, and try my hardest not to imagine the bodies buried just beneath the surface on either side of my path, even though I can still see the mounds in front of some of the headstones. The crows constantly cawing from the surrounding trees do not help my feelings of unease; nor do the various statues, staring down at me with stony, mournful eyes. To get my mind off of Alfred Hitchcock, I focus my attention not on the mounds beneath the stones, but on the words carved into the stones. Hundreds of names and dates flash before my eyes and weave their way in and out of my consciousness. I am amazed at the dates on some of them, which go all the way back to the 18^th century. I wonder what their lives were like. Who were they? What dreams did they have? What goals did they pursue? What disappointment, sorrow, love and joy did they experience before death brought them to this place, to be buried in the ground and forgotten? I read some of their epitaphs and try to imagine what these words say about the person whose name that takes up half of the stone. “No shadows yonder, all light and song.” “He touched many lives, and left with each of them a small part of himself.” “Swing open the golden gate, and let the victor in.” “Resting.” Truth be told, I am not sure what to make of most of them; they just seem like hasty words printed in stone, and many of them are repeats of one another. Some of them are beautiful, though, and tug lightly at my heart. 

A cemetery is a place of death. It is the sacred ground where the shells of those who were once living are put away and buried, out of sight, under the ground. Those who dwell there will never think another thought. They will never feel another emotion. Their cold hands will never again move to smooth a fevered brow, chop firewood, or write a story. Their pale lips will never again part in song or discussion or confession of love. Their still feet will never again tread the paths of this earth. They are dead. There is no life in them, in these humanoid shells.

And yet, in the midst of this death, there is life. There is the grass, strong and sturdy and refusing to die, even in the cold weather. There are the trees, tall and intimidating, speaking sorrowful stories of all that they have seen in their sad realm, and yet blooming and coming vibrantly alive each new spring. There are the crows, which, harbingers of death though they are, still live. And there is me, a young woman just starting out in life, winding my way among the tombstones. I seem awfully out of place, as the light of life burns brightly in me. I think thoughts and feel emotions. My hands swing freely by my sides. A song slips through my pink lips. My feet move along the path with ease. I am alive.

                

Death, robed and hooded, stalks through the fields of this world; he reaps as he goes and takes from the earth those who were once living. Death is strong and all-consuming. There is no living thing which cannot be touched by it. And yet even death must yield to Life.

“Jesus said to her, ‘I am the Resurrection and the Life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die…’” John 11:25

What is a Soulmate, Exactly?

Friends. Acquaintances. Lovers. Enemies. Strangers. Brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers. There are so many different relationships we have as we walk along the path on the journey that is our life. People we care about, people we couldn't care less about; people we are close to, people we hold at arm's length; people we enjoy, people we almost can't stand to be around; people we trust, and people we mistrust; and everything in between. With almost everybody we meet, we form a relationship that falls somewhere within the bounds of these spectrums. But in all of these different relationships, there are only a few lucky people out there who actually find their soulmate.

A soulmate, in my experience, is that one person who completes you, with whom you belong beyond any shadow of a doubt. The Holmes to your Watson. The Sonny to your Cher. The peanut butter to your jelly (or marshmallow fluff, or bananas, or whatever you like with peanut butter). It's that person who completes your life in a way that you could never have imagined when they weren't there. You are only a half, but together you are a whole. And a soulmate, contrary to popular belief, doesn't have to be a romantic person of interest. A soulmate can be a sibling, a lover, or simply a friend.

And many times, your soulmate is a person you never expected to meet, somebody you didn't know you needed. But along they come, stumbling into your life like a course-altering explosion. You get stuck with them as a roommate, or a partner for a project, or as a member of your family. And at first, you can't quite understand this person. They seem quiet, or loud, or obnoxious, or perpetually frightened - in any case, the total opposite of you. You clash, you misunderstand, and then one day you realize that this person knows you better than anyone. They fix you in ways that you didn't know you were broken. Their differences complete you. And you begin to respect, appreciate, and even rely on those differences. They are strong where you are weak, and they are weak where you are strong. Like two halves of a brick wall, you come together and shore each other up, making you both better people even as you infuriate each other to no end. There is no one on earth, in the past or in future times, who can fill that spot in your life the way they can. And while you may not physically be with them for the rest of your lives, due to Death or the changes of life, you will never be apart in spirit. Your soulmate, your person, the one who knows you best and loves you most, will never truly leave you. Your souls, once united, will be in touch always, even if it is only by the merest thread of remembrance.

The Truth about True Love

True love is a dangerous thing to possess. Like a beautiful sword with no handle, if a person holds it, it will hurt them. There will be disappointment, misunderstanding, and sorrow beyond belief. Hard times are sure to come to anybody willing to give their heart and soul into the keeping of another.
 
But it is infinitely more dangerous to lack it.
 
Because, without love, what is our worth? With nobody to believe in us, why should we believe in ourselves? An absence of love in our lives means loneliness, hopelessness, and purposelessness. Those living with their heart and soul held tightly inside them can have nothing but a void stretching before them, as eternal and as cold as frozen hell itself. The beauty of love, however, comes in that it rescues from the void. Although it can be difficult and dangerous, those who choose love find warmth, purpose, and joy. There is unimaginable comfort in being believed in, and believing in someone else. The selflessness required to put another’s needs above one’s own is an almost supernatural feat that shines with heaven’s radiance, and hearkens back to the unending love of our God for us and the painful sacrifice required to show us that love.
 
Beauty and pain, those are the conflicting ingredients of love. But if we don’t love, how can we live?