There is a city in Poland that
stops for one minute every year. Although most of the current inhabitants of Warsaw were not alive in 1943 when the Nazis invaded, the tradition of standing at attention for sixty seconds is a tribute to the hundreds of
thousands of people who died, or lived, at that awful time.
Next week there will be a Garden of Life event at my church, where people will bring photographs, mementos and scrapbooks to honor people who have passed away. Last year I walked along the path of memorabilia, and paused at a book created by my aunt in remembrance of her husband. It included snapshots from a camp they ran in their home called Pine Needles. It was there that I met
John.
Included in its pages was a thank you letter from the campers, and in the column of signatures was my maiden name right next to John's. How about that. I did not know my future but Someone did.
Although we cannot eradicate death, and suffering, and trauma, we can give it a place of recognition. The reservoir of pain may feel limitless, yet the simple gesture of respect may render it
finite.
I have wondered about a way to pay tribute to a marriage that died. Does it work to simply ignore it? The wedding and births that followed were in themselves joyful events. Does pretending that there was no happiness work for people whose lives shifted?
I am afraid to ask.
But I do believe that Someone knows their future, and it holds immeasurable
blessings.
