It sounds morbid but I love to wander in graveyards and read tombstones. Last year on a visit to Scotland, we explored Glasgow’s Necropolis. Ornate statues, monuments, and mausoleums fill the hill overlooking the city. The oldest grave reads 1832.
Most of the messages etched in stone detail age, and day and year of birth and death. Almost all the dead men had their occupations written in stone. Manufacturer. Physician. Cobbler. Apothecary. Magistrate. Professor.
My husband and I then traveled to Iona for a quiet pilgrimage and returned again this year. The Iona Abbey has an ancient graveyard filled with centuries of saints, lairds, kings, and commoners. The earliest tombstone goes back to 548 AD.
The gravestones were simpler than in Glasgow’s Necropolis. No huge monuments. Most of the words were faded or filled in with moss and lichen and the headstones broken or tipped. If you could read them, the words often simply read: Father. Mother. Son. Daughter.
What “role” could be etched for me? I’ve let go of all the job titles I’ve held.
What would I want on my tombstone? And why?
I sensed God answering my prayer with a gentle question: Why would you want anything more than “Beloved?” It’s the only descriptor needed. I am the beloved daughter of the King of Kings, and through Jesus Christ, he is well pleased with me.
That one word is enough.
Beloved
Gently again, He nudged me about the precious titles I do have. Wife. Mother. Friend. Many long for those roles more than any job or achievement.
When my gravestone cracks and the words fade, it won’t matter, because in Heaven there will be no dates or titles. We will all be forever beloved.