My mental sky is gray, seemingly apathetic to its ordained task of separating the dark from the light. Despondent, the clouds burst open and a tsunami of tears drenches my soul with sadness. Questions of significance, meaning, and purpose, like torrential rain breech the levies of my inadequate emotional aqueduct, and the usually peaceful valleys of my existence become flooded with despair. I find myself mystically transported to a graveyard where I sit cross-legged staring at my own tombstone. I see my name engraved at the top, bracketed by the years of my existence, but the rest is blank, devoid of inscribed sentiment. Surely there must have been a pithy phrase, poem, or Bible verse that could have been written to adequately summarize my life? Is this all that my family and friends will see when they visit my graveside?

Unfortunately, for the majority of us, the best panoramic view of our lives is uncomfortably found on cemetery hill. It’s a steep climb we approach with trepidation because we’re afraid of what we might see from the summit as we look back on the circuitous trail we have trampled through the valleys of our lives. We will most likely wince when we see how we had veered off the yellow brick road of God’s plotline and engaged in impertinent improvisation in the poppy fields of pleasure or got lost in the dark forest of sin. We will see the places where the flying monkeys of desire carried us off to the castle of despair, and we will regret the opportunities we missed to douse the wicked witch of sin with the holy water of faith.

I suspect that almost all human beings, if they were honest, would tell you they had regrets about the way they had lived their lives. Maybe it was a lack of courage to pursue their dreams, a mechanical inability to love and mend relationships, or even disappointment at the times they behaved as if their brains were made of straw. 

What will your final epitaph be; a final address where dead flowers pile up like junk mail on the doorstep of an abandoned house still offering hope for a happy life, or a forwarding address to an eternal home you had purchased years earlier with your heavenly treasure?

“Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give to the needy. Provide yourselves with moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” (Luke 12: 32-34)