Give Me Flowers While I Am Alive

One Saturday night on my way home from a wedding in Birmingham I stopped by the Union Springs Baptist Church cemetery.  It was dark, but I wanted to stop because I did not know if I would have another opportunity to go by there before Resurrection Sunday.  I try to visit every chance I can.  I promised mom and dad that I would visit their graves.  I place a flower or flowers on momma’s grave.  I always would give her a flower when I would visit her when she was alive.  I would get her daffodils, roses, jonquils, crept myrtle, dogwood blooms, and many other blooms.  Dad would always say, “Don’t put flowers on my grave; give me flowers while I am alive.”  He was really saying spend time with me now.

Since it was after dark, I did not stay very long.  No, I am not scared in the graveyard at night.  Daddy taught never fear the dead; it is the living that will hurt you.  I was afraid the pastor of Union Springs might be alarmed with a car entering the cemetery.  I do not know what my home church was thinking when they built the Pastorium beside the cemetery.  My home church has been fortunate to call pastors with families that did not mind living beside the dead.  It may be that most pastors have served dead churches that have manipulating members, and it was a relief not having the dead causing any trouble.

As I surveyed the cemetery, I thought about all the people I knew that were now resting there.  I have worshipped with them, fished with them, laughed, and cried with them.  Buried there are those who taught me Scripture, taught me about life, and taught me about dying.  Some in the graveyard I was with them when they were dying.  I watched some of them suffer horrible deaths from cancer.  There were those who died violent deaths from car accidents and several died from heart attacks. There is a childhood friend who died from a motorcycle accident, the friend who died from alcohol poisoning, and the friend that died from Aids. 

There is the friend that said she knew God called me to preach long before I knew it.  There is the friend that told me that she would always be praying from me when I stood to preach.  There is the old friend that gave me a London Fog rain jacket when I surrendered to preach.

Scattered all over the cemetery are neighbors, family, and a few unknowns of long ago.  There are infant graves, senior adult graves, teenage graves, and graves of all ages in between.  Some have huge tombstones, some are simple markers, and some are marked by a small metal nametag.

Visiting the graveyard, I remember some of the deceased laughs, some of their funny sayings, and some of their unique smiles or distinctive physical attributes.  The graves there mark those that I have made my journey of life.  I started making my trips to this cemetery when I was in my mother’s womb, the day they buried my great-grandmother Crumpton was the day before my birth.

As I look at the pink granite tombstone of momma and daddy, I took a moment to think about the short time I had with them and how short this life really is.  It is hard to image that this Easter daddy will have been dead for forty years or that momma will be dead thirty-six years.  Daddy died the Friday after Easter Sunday 1984.  Easter had a greater meaning that year. I remember walking out of the hospital when moments earlier, around four o’clock in the morning, the nurse pronounced daddy dead.  The sun was shining brightly, not yet broken the horizon.  Birds chirped and sang beautiful songs.  The aroma of spring, as was the dawning of a new day, was breathtaking.  Suddenly I was overwhelmed with the reality that daddy was in beautiful heaven.  My day was zilch compared to his.  As I walk among the dead in the cemetery at night, dad’s spirit walks with the throngs of the living in heaven where there is no night.

I made the trip to the cemetery that night to say, “Mom, dad, I will see you on Resurrection Day.”  I then journeyed back to Linden where I ministered at the time.

The beauty of Resurrection Sunday is that we, as believers, hold to Jesus’ promise of the Resurrection.  The power that raised Jesus from the grave is the same power that will do it again for all believers one day.

I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live . . . (John 11:25bKJV).

Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen . . . (Luke 24:5b-6a KJV).