Things to do when I'm gone

I've killed my fair share of trees. Some for worthy pursuits, some not so worthy.

For example, I used to love to make lists. I thought lists were so important, I would spend a half hour preparing a list of chores needing done that day: empty the trash, wash the dishes, make the beds, dust, throw a load of towels in the washer and the clean jeans in the dryer. Each of which, or multiples of which, could have easily been accomplished in the time I spent making the list.

The futility of it amazes me. Could I not see that the dishes needed washing? Could I not see that the trash was full to overflowing? Could I not see the dust was thick enough to inscribe the Gettysburg address and have it legible across the room?

Nevertheless I persisted in my list making for many years.

Eventually, I had to give it up. With three children underfoot, I dared not take my eyes off of them long enough to make a list, or the list would simply grow even longer, adding the new mess they had made while I was distracted.

Now that we're nearly grown, making lists isn't even on my list of things to do in a day. I try my best to keep a running tally of tasks before me, letting the completed ones stand on their own merit, foregoing the satisfaction of seeing things crossed off the list as was my habit years ago. Still Danny and I found it necessary to make a short list not too long ago, as part of our new growing-up and growing older responsibility. We don't want to leave the children over-burdened when we shed these mortal coils, needing to make lists of their own that include tying up loose ends we had the ability to tie before we died. Oh, we'll leave a little something behind for them to tend to -- a little mess or two to cleanup -- payback for the many messes they made that we cleaned up. It's only fair. But I do hope the dishes are done and the trash is emptied.

The list contains the usual legal language so necessary in this litigious society. Pretty simple really, take all that two have made and divide it by three. Done is done. We don't own valuable furnishings, paintings or first editions of anything, so the household stuff can just go to whomever needs that particular item at that particular time. Or they can give it all away. No matter. The sentimental items we cherish we carry in our hearts. There is my mom's Bible to designate...

What I want to leave my children cannot be listed in a legal document, nor does it have any monetary value. But the legacy we would leave our children, a legacy given to us in faith, is one of faith.

Faith that God is.

Faith to see with the eyes God gives, not at birth, but at new birth.

Faith to hear with ears trained to hear the voice of the Good Shepard even as the demons of the world wail.

Faith to reach out, to grasp the hand, the sometimes diseased, often dirty hands, of those whose paths cross theirs, with a need that only they can meet.

Faith to love, not as the world loves, with strings, conditions, and so much if-then requirements the Library of Congress couldn't hold the document, but to love as Jesus loves. Open-handed, without expectation, even when it hurts, even when it means breathing your last breath with words of forgiveness and grace, just as he did.

Of the many things in this world I would have them shun, at our leave-taking, I insist they shun regret. For we have loved them as best we could and they, the same. And in doing so, there is nothing to regret and nothing to mourn. We'll wait, faithful still, trusting Father to bring them safely home one day. Because if he did it for us, he can do it for them.

"Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus with those who have fallen asleep in him." 1Thessalonians 4:13, 14 (NIV)