A good friend of our family died last week. His funeral was today. He was a companion to my dad when they were in Mexico on a mission during their early 20s. We called him Uncle George, growing up. My mom and dad couldn’t be here, so I went to represent our family. I would have gone anyway, though.

There were about 500 people at his funeral, and many more from all corners of the globe that couldn’t make it. He wasn’t a rich man, or a famous man. But he showed so much love to everyone around him. He touched people’s hearts.  Sincere compliments were one of his weapons of choice. Speaking to a person as if they were the most important person was another tactic. He loved to teach the Gospel. It wasn’t very hard for him, just watching him was a lesson in living a Christ centered life.

Every person is a beautiful being. It was one of his most cherished wishes that everyone realized that.

It’s sad to me that I can no longer physically speak with him. But he’s around.

I’m of an age where I’m starting to attend more funerals. It isn’t my generation, but the one before me. The people who were my elders are becoming my ancestors in body and spirit.

The bodies are just dead, lifeless. The spirit doesn’t linger there. Why should it? The spirit hangs around what it built, what was precious to it in life. My grandfather still guides me in gardening, though I like to ignore him regarding chemical weed killer. He was never so involved in my gardening mental space before. I inherited several books and a couple of pieces of furniture from my great uncle. I’m not taking good enough care of them, except for the books. And I’m the mother of a nation.

George? He tells me use my talents to share the love of God to the world.