It was just a few of us gathered at the graveside.
She did not have any children. Her husband had died years earlier. There were a sprinkling of nieces and nephews but including myself and the funeral director, we did not number enough to field a baseball team. “How sad,” I thought to myself.
But then I heard the few that were gathered mingling about. I heard antidotes of beach vacations, affirmations of lessons learned, laughter of happy times revisited. Perhaps she had not been a Rhodes Scholar or an accomplished pianist or a much beloved mother, but her life had left a lasting impact on the lives of those who were huddled around her coffin. Her life had value.
Jesus tells a story of a shepherd who boasted of his herd of one hundred. Until one day when one of the sheep went missing. For most of us, this would be a calculated loss. There are still ninety nine to protect so fretting over the one lost would be counterproductive.
But not for the shepherd. He left the ninety nine behind and searched all across the countryside until he found the one lost sheep. He searched because even though there were ninety nine happy and healthy ones, he refused to overlook the one. Every life has value.
With that epiphany in hand, my perspective immediately changed. “How wonderful,” I thought to myself.
Ponderings 