There was a homecoming yesterday at church.

One of our long time members was present in our midst as we celebrated her life at her funeral.  She had endured much:  Parkinsons and blindness and Alzheimers.  Her family had moved her from Richfield in order to care for her closer to their homes.  But even after her move they had sent cards and photos and letters in order to maintain connection with her beloved church.

So we celebrated her life yesterday.  Part of the worship service was watching a photo montage unfold on the screen at the front of the church.  There she was, pigtailed and then lipsticked and blue-jeaned and ultimately husked and retreated from her world.

And always there were people around her loving her and joy radiating from her face while she canoed and loved and lived.

What sacrament, this thing called living.  We get placed into the arms of what we come to know as family and we learn and grow and bump and live and our story gets written and eventually told.

So relish the chapters.  Sometimes we feel stuck in the never-will-I-live-into-better parts of our lives.  But always those chapters walk with us and beckon to us; the chapters that speak more of joy and love than of loss and pain.

The life we celebrated yesterday meant the world to those gathered.

That’s enough.

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