I've attended two funerals in the last two weeks. Not exactly happy days, but part of the life cycle nonetheless. One part of my extended family is all buried in the same cemetery and so, per usual, with every visit for another funeral, we've made a habit of tracing our steps past the other markers of our family's remains. I'm not usually alone at funerals for family members, but I was on this particular occasion, so I did my best to find the plots all over the place.
On my journey, I began to notice something. All the headstones had names, a few had numbers that corresponded with names, but a majority also had a title. What titles did I see?
Mom
Dad
Loving mother
Beloved father and grandfather
Papa
Mama
Sister
Brother
Mother
Father
Mr. and Mrs. (His name) (Family name)
Loving husband
Faithful wife
Over and over, the titles of mom or dad came up. Sometimes grandma or grandpa, sometimes husband or wife, but all were family titles or nicknames. And it got me thinking: I know nothing else about these people except what someone else called them at home. I walked past easily 500 headstones and all I can really tell you is there's a whole lotta mama's up in there.
One of the greatest identifiers of a person's time on earth is marked by titles inside our home.
Not titles at work.
Not nicknames from friends.
Not social circle statuses or social media handles.
Not a great feat of endurance.
Not an invention linked to their ingenuity.
Not because of their own greatness.
Simply who they were on Saturday when they were home with nothing to do.
You can tell a lot about a person by the way they spend their Saturdays.
Our free time reveals our priorities.
For all I know, I walked past graves of millionaires and murders, rockstars or rocket scientists, famous people and wallflowers, those with incredible stories of victory and those whose stories would make us weep and more than a few who probably battled illness and pain in ways we could hardly fathom. But past the headstone title, I knew none of those things. Nothing mattered except that title, the name, and the dates.
How can so many lives come down to such limited and identical statistics? Is that really all there is to life?
In one sense, that was a relief. As someone who is early in my career, it served as a good reminder that even the best careers don't seem to matter when it comes down to those precious few letters on an earthly resting spot. While I value my career and an honest work ethic is something noble, it ought to cause us to pause and ask, "Am I spending the bulk of my life on what matters?" But in another sense, it made me uneasy. What if I never get that title? I would say that for the patch of land I walked, probably 75% of the headstones had "mother" or "father" on them -- it was an overwhelming majority. Like, somehow this is what's "normal" and to not have one of those titles makes my life weird. Again. (I suppose there's a sporting chance I've got some insecurity here.) But what if normal isn't all we've cracked it up to be?
I've heard it said that with the rise of the American Dream began the fall of the nuclear family. Now, to be clear, families have never been perfect or even stable and the evidence for that goes all the way back to the second generation of humanity ever... so don't worry -- we all have messed up families. We can't blame this on America, per se. But I think here in the "land of the free, home of the brave" where capitalism is king and image is everything, we can be tempted to try and purchase our way toward security and comfort by trading long nights of parenting and daily life at home with late nights at the office just trying to get ahead. I've met enough teenagers with corporate-company parents to know that a very real exchange is made that can never be undone and is often not realized until it's too late. In many regards, the freedom to pursue happiness has led us to believe it can actually be caught and that's it's just a couple rungs above you on the corporate ladder. Or bought. Or at least experienced for a couple hours here and there...
But I'm starting to think happiness can never be caught. Actually, I'm pretty sure of it. And perhaps it's worth mentioning that just because we are free to do something, doesn't mean we should. The apostle Paul reminded the Corinthian church "Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial." Is it really happiness we're pursuing? Or do we actually want joy? They sound the same, but their roots are very different and so will be the fruit.
Those who pursue happiness -- that is, whatever they think will bring the most momentary satisfaction -- almost always end up worse than they started. Why? Because we're chasing a feeling and in this case, the allure of happiness creates a lust to find it. Lust is never satisfied because it's consumed with an external thing it cannot have or seem to get. The pursuit of happiness may as well be an emotional drug: we always need more to get the high we just came off of. But joy is categorically different. Joy comes from a place of sureness deep in our core. It's a steadiness in what is true and a belief that even if the current circumstances aren't good, somehow, we will get through and we can smile at the little things that remind us not to take life too seriously. Joy can be cultivated and kept for later because it wasn't contingent on external circumstances. Don't believe me? Read Philippians 4 and keep in mind, those words were written by a dude that had been chased all over the known world, beaten, imprisoned, and ridiculed mercilessly who now finds himself in prison headed for execution. And his last written words are about JOY. Paul's joy came from the inside because his "outside" was a pretty terrifying journey if you ask me.
Family is much the same way. Like it or not, those with whom we share a household and likely a bloodline might be hard to love at times, but you're stuck with each other. For some, this thought brings comfort: I will always have somewhere to turn and someone to call -- I am never alone if my family has my back. For others, this idea stings a little. There isn't a family on earth that is untouched by relational difficulty or strain, abandonment, the fruit of lies or deception, addiction, and on and on the list goes. It feels heavy to think about how some of the baggage your family carries can never really be totally lost or forgotten. For most of us, it's a mix of both: we have "our people" but we're all here with backpacks of baggage. It's a reality of living in a sin-cursed world.
What's the big idea? Family matters. Your household matters. The way you spend your Saturday matters more in the end than whoever you might be spending you 9-5's with Monday through Friday. Because when it's all said and done, your Saturday people show up to remember you, to thank you, and to lay your remains to rest as your soul rests in Jesus' presence.
Now, I can hear the rebuttals already: But what about social justice? What about abject poverty? What about curing cancer and working toward a better tomorrow?
To be absolutely clear: it is a good and worthy thing to work and to work hard for the betterment of humanity. Your life has a purpose both in and out of the home regardless of your job situation or family arrangement right now. They are not mutually exclusive. However... I genuinely believe you'd be hard-pressed to find any person present or past who is so proud of their out-of-the-home achievement that they'd prefer their achievement to be on their headstone over a family title. Not a single headstone reads: "Mark: really good banker." "Julie: world's best secretary." "John: inventor of the material we make whiteboards out of in school." It's just not what people are remembered for.
So what about those of us who are a household of one?
I see you. I'm with you. We are not excluded from this. We just live it out differently.
Just last week, I had a friend over for dinner and the moment she walked in the door, she threw her purse down, inhaled deeply, and sighed "I just love your little place." I giggled at her slightly-dramatic praise of what I assumed she meant for dinner's pleasing aroma. But I asked anyway, "What do you mean?" Her answer surprised me. "Oh, I don't know -- just, like, I can come be really here. And I know we're gonna talk. And everything you make is good. And I just love it."
She had no idea the thoughts I'd had earlier that week at the cemetery -- the encroaching fear that without the titles of "wife" or "Mom" I can't experience what it is to nourish other people to the glory of God. She had no idea how much I needed to hear in-effect "The way you live matters, even if there isn't someone here every day to see it." God sees how we live. He knows the daily stuff. We are not excluded. In the family of God, everyone has a seat at the table and no earthly title will change that. This cultivates deep joy.
And every so often, I get to use the external to help others cultivate internal joy, too. I may never be a biological mother, but I know I have children in the Lord. I may only be a sister to one brother, but I am sister-in-Christ to hundreds more. I may be a household of one, but I belong to a global family of God and I still have the gift of good relationships with those I also share bloodlines with. I'm choosing to be intentional about the home culture I create, even though it's just me. The reality is, whatever we're cultivating at home is what comes with us elsewhere. We are not whole people if we live double lives -- those who try usually end up in deep trouble.
All I'm trying to say is, with everything our world is facing right now, remember the long-haul. Savor your Saturday people. Cultivate joy in the little things. Forego the frivolous pursuit of happiness and dig into the relationships of those you want by your side when it's all said and done. This life is too short to waste. Today is a gift. Love your people well at home and they'll know how to love others well when they leave.
On my journey, I began to notice something. All the headstones had names, a few had numbers that corresponded with names, but a majority also had a title. What titles did I see?
Mom
Dad
Loving mother
Beloved father and grandfather
Papa
Mama
Sister
Brother
Mother
Father
Mr. and Mrs. (His name) (Family name)
Loving husband
Faithful wife
Over and over, the titles of mom or dad came up. Sometimes grandma or grandpa, sometimes husband or wife, but all were family titles or nicknames. And it got me thinking: I know nothing else about these people except what someone else called them at home. I walked past easily 500 headstones and all I can really tell you is there's a whole lotta mama's up in there.
One of the greatest identifiers of a person's time on earth is marked by titles inside our home.
Not titles at work.
Not nicknames from friends.
Not social circle statuses or social media handles.
Not a great feat of endurance.
Not an invention linked to their ingenuity.
Not because of their own greatness.
Simply who they were on Saturday when they were home with nothing to do.
You can tell a lot about a person by the way they spend their Saturdays.
Our free time reveals our priorities.
For all I know, I walked past graves of millionaires and murders, rockstars or rocket scientists, famous people and wallflowers, those with incredible stories of victory and those whose stories would make us weep and more than a few who probably battled illness and pain in ways we could hardly fathom. But past the headstone title, I knew none of those things. Nothing mattered except that title, the name, and the dates.
How can so many lives come down to such limited and identical statistics? Is that really all there is to life?
In one sense, that was a relief. As someone who is early in my career, it served as a good reminder that even the best careers don't seem to matter when it comes down to those precious few letters on an earthly resting spot. While I value my career and an honest work ethic is something noble, it ought to cause us to pause and ask, "Am I spending the bulk of my life on what matters?" But in another sense, it made me uneasy. What if I never get that title? I would say that for the patch of land I walked, probably 75% of the headstones had "mother" or "father" on them -- it was an overwhelming majority. Like, somehow this is what's "normal" and to not have one of those titles makes my life weird. Again. (I suppose there's a sporting chance I've got some insecurity here.) But what if normal isn't all we've cracked it up to be?
I've heard it said that with the rise of the American Dream began the fall of the nuclear family. Now, to be clear, families have never been perfect or even stable and the evidence for that goes all the way back to the second generation of humanity ever... so don't worry -- we all have messed up families. We can't blame this on America, per se. But I think here in the "land of the free, home of the brave" where capitalism is king and image is everything, we can be tempted to try and purchase our way toward security and comfort by trading long nights of parenting and daily life at home with late nights at the office just trying to get ahead. I've met enough teenagers with corporate-company parents to know that a very real exchange is made that can never be undone and is often not realized until it's too late. In many regards, the freedom to pursue happiness has led us to believe it can actually be caught and that's it's just a couple rungs above you on the corporate ladder. Or bought. Or at least experienced for a couple hours here and there...
But I'm starting to think happiness can never be caught. Actually, I'm pretty sure of it. And perhaps it's worth mentioning that just because we are free to do something, doesn't mean we should. The apostle Paul reminded the Corinthian church "Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial." Is it really happiness we're pursuing? Or do we actually want joy? They sound the same, but their roots are very different and so will be the fruit.
Those who pursue happiness -- that is, whatever they think will bring the most momentary satisfaction -- almost always end up worse than they started. Why? Because we're chasing a feeling and in this case, the allure of happiness creates a lust to find it. Lust is never satisfied because it's consumed with an external thing it cannot have or seem to get. The pursuit of happiness may as well be an emotional drug: we always need more to get the high we just came off of. But joy is categorically different. Joy comes from a place of sureness deep in our core. It's a steadiness in what is true and a belief that even if the current circumstances aren't good, somehow, we will get through and we can smile at the little things that remind us not to take life too seriously. Joy can be cultivated and kept for later because it wasn't contingent on external circumstances. Don't believe me? Read Philippians 4 and keep in mind, those words were written by a dude that had been chased all over the known world, beaten, imprisoned, and ridiculed mercilessly who now finds himself in prison headed for execution. And his last written words are about JOY. Paul's joy came from the inside because his "outside" was a pretty terrifying journey if you ask me.
Family is much the same way. Like it or not, those with whom we share a household and likely a bloodline might be hard to love at times, but you're stuck with each other. For some, this thought brings comfort: I will always have somewhere to turn and someone to call -- I am never alone if my family has my back. For others, this idea stings a little. There isn't a family on earth that is untouched by relational difficulty or strain, abandonment, the fruit of lies or deception, addiction, and on and on the list goes. It feels heavy to think about how some of the baggage your family carries can never really be totally lost or forgotten. For most of us, it's a mix of both: we have "our people" but we're all here with backpacks of baggage. It's a reality of living in a sin-cursed world.
What's the big idea? Family matters. Your household matters. The way you spend your Saturday matters more in the end than whoever you might be spending you 9-5's with Monday through Friday. Because when it's all said and done, your Saturday people show up to remember you, to thank you, and to lay your remains to rest as your soul rests in Jesus' presence.
Now, I can hear the rebuttals already: But what about social justice? What about abject poverty? What about curing cancer and working toward a better tomorrow?
To be absolutely clear: it is a good and worthy thing to work and to work hard for the betterment of humanity. Your life has a purpose both in and out of the home regardless of your job situation or family arrangement right now. They are not mutually exclusive. However... I genuinely believe you'd be hard-pressed to find any person present or past who is so proud of their out-of-the-home achievement that they'd prefer their achievement to be on their headstone over a family title. Not a single headstone reads: "Mark: really good banker." "Julie: world's best secretary." "John: inventor of the material we make whiteboards out of in school." It's just not what people are remembered for.
So what about those of us who are a household of one?
I see you. I'm with you. We are not excluded from this. We just live it out differently.
Just last week, I had a friend over for dinner and the moment she walked in the door, she threw her purse down, inhaled deeply, and sighed "I just love your little place." I giggled at her slightly-dramatic praise of what I assumed she meant for dinner's pleasing aroma. But I asked anyway, "What do you mean?" Her answer surprised me. "Oh, I don't know -- just, like, I can come be really here. And I know we're gonna talk. And everything you make is good. And I just love it."
She had no idea the thoughts I'd had earlier that week at the cemetery -- the encroaching fear that without the titles of "wife" or "Mom" I can't experience what it is to nourish other people to the glory of God. She had no idea how much I needed to hear in-effect "The way you live matters, even if there isn't someone here every day to see it." God sees how we live. He knows the daily stuff. We are not excluded. In the family of God, everyone has a seat at the table and no earthly title will change that. This cultivates deep joy.
And every so often, I get to use the external to help others cultivate internal joy, too. I may never be a biological mother, but I know I have children in the Lord. I may only be a sister to one brother, but I am sister-in-Christ to hundreds more. I may be a household of one, but I belong to a global family of God and I still have the gift of good relationships with those I also share bloodlines with. I'm choosing to be intentional about the home culture I create, even though it's just me. The reality is, whatever we're cultivating at home is what comes with us elsewhere. We are not whole people if we live double lives -- those who try usually end up in deep trouble.
All I'm trying to say is, with everything our world is facing right now, remember the long-haul. Savor your Saturday people. Cultivate joy in the little things. Forego the frivolous pursuit of happiness and dig into the relationships of those you want by your side when it's all said and done. This life is too short to waste. Today is a gift. Love your people well at home and they'll know how to love others well when they leave.
Jacque: Faithful Follower of God; Heart Friend; Daughter; Auntie; Teacher/Mentor; Sister in the Lord; Encourager;
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