For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.  For indeed, in this house we groan, longing to be clothed with our dwelling from heaven...and knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the  Lord...we are of good courage, I say, and prefer rather to be absent from the body and at home with the Lord.  Therefore, also we have as our ambition, whether at home or absent, to be pleasing to Him.
2 Corinthians 5:1-9

Yesterday I went with my daughter to a cemetary just down the road from our home.  She was doing research for a project.  I went to keep her company, do some walking, and because, well, I kind of like cemetaries.  (My daughter says that's just creepy)   I appreciate the history so accessible in graveyards. With a little imagination it can be like reading a story in stone.  This man fought in Korea.  What would it have been like for a sheltered young man from these mountains to find himself  fighting a war on the other side of the world?  This family lost two little boys within a year of each other.  Diptheria? Influenza?   How did this mother survive such loss?  Did she lean on the Lord?  Did she grow bitter?    And how did this mountain boy here find himself serving in the Merchant Marines during WWII ?  Did he hear the call of the sea way up here in these hills?    Here is one where an elderly husband has preceded his wife. Her place beside him is empty still.  Is she lonely?  Ready to go on?  Does she come here to sit beside his grave?  I can only guess.
I look up and think about the fact that these same folks left other monuments to their lives as well.  Roads, creeks and farms in our valley still carry the same names etched here in the headstones.  And their descendants are still here too.  Legacy. 

My mind steps easily from speculation about their lives to introspection about my own.  I'm 46, an age that we very optimistically refer to as "midlife"   I have most likely already lived longer than I will continue live.  The invincibility of youth  is gone.  In the back of my mind I have a settled realization that it won't be so very long before I "join" this congregation on the hill.  The thought doesn't frighten or sadden me.  Not at all.  I know where I am going next, and I know it will be much better, much lovelier than even this beautiful high hill.

 No, my question is not at all about where I am going.  It's about what I will leave behind.  What will my legacy be?  I know what I want it to be.  When I die, I want to leave behind me people who know God more deeply and understand life better because they knew me.  I want to have loved unselfishly.  I want to have imparted wisdom.  I want to have served well.  I want to leave behind something much more than a headstone.   I want to leave a lifesong,  the legacy of a life lived to the glory of God.

What if I lived every day with that ambition in mind? 

Yeah, I do kind of like cemeteries.