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Will Anyone Remember Me?

September turned into a month of extreme contrasting memories and emotions for me:

Preparing for a 9/11 service, and re-living a host of emotions and memories 10 years later…

The paradox of attending a conference which simultaneously stirred strong memories of both belonging and rejection…

Passing through a former hometown and visiting with some wonderful old friends… and remembering the abuse and control that we were subject to at our former church…

Attending a funeral for a fellow church member’s father, which stirred memories of my own father’s death… and made me wonder what my own funeral would be like.

Funerals aren’t for the dead, they’re for the ones left behind. But since I’m single and have no children of my own, I wouldn’t be leaving anyone behind. So who would be there? What would be said? What would be in my obituary? Who would even write it, let alone read it?

Would people actually miss me, or just wonder why certain things weren’t getting done anymore?

Will I truly make an impact in the areas that I’m passionate about before I die? Or will I spend my life working for things that aren’t going to last… and people who aren’t even going to remember?

Will anything or anyone truly be better because I was here?

Those are questions that I can only answer myself, by the way I choose to live. But thinking about all of this is good for me — it’s healthy — because unless we step back every once in while to see the big picture, it’s easy to forget that the things that scream the loudest for our attention are often the most insignificant. The significant is nearly always silent. It doesn’t seek you out, it demands to be sought.