(no subject)
The first two years I lived in Ohio, I lived right across the street from a cemetery. I used to go walking there all the time: It was a beautiful, quiet place, and from the top of the hill you could see for miles.
There were a few stones and monuments that interested me--the ones at the top of the hill were from the nineteenth century--but for the most part, I didn't pay much attention to the names and dates.
One day, I was walking in the cemetery, and I thought, What if somebody came and wanted to know where a loved one was buried? I wouldn't be able to tell them where they were. Maybe I should pay more attention to the stones. So I started reading the names as I passed the stones, saying them in my head, trying to remember about where they were in the cemetery.
As I was about to leave, after like fifteen minutes of this, a car drove into the cemetery, and they stopped beside me and put down the window. "I'm looking for my dad's grave," a young man said. "I've never been here before. Have you seen a grave with the last name Solomon on it?"
"Yeah," I answered--"See that clump of shrubs near the top of the hill? There's a few Solomons buried there."
He thanked me. "I've never been to my dad's grave," he repeated, and drove up the hill. I paused by the gate and watched him kneel beside one of the stones.
You can't tell me God didn't arrange that.
There were a few stones and monuments that interested me--the ones at the top of the hill were from the nineteenth century--but for the most part, I didn't pay much attention to the names and dates.
One day, I was walking in the cemetery, and I thought, What if somebody came and wanted to know where a loved one was buried? I wouldn't be able to tell them where they were. Maybe I should pay more attention to the stones. So I started reading the names as I passed the stones, saying them in my head, trying to remember about where they were in the cemetery.
As I was about to leave, after like fifteen minutes of this, a car drove into the cemetery, and they stopped beside me and put down the window. "I'm looking for my dad's grave," a young man said. "I've never been here before. Have you seen a grave with the last name Solomon on it?"
"Yeah," I answered--"See that clump of shrubs near the top of the hill? There's a few Solomons buried there."
He thanked me. "I've never been to my dad's grave," he repeated, and drove up the hill. I paused by the gate and watched him kneel beside one of the stones.
You can't tell me God didn't arrange that.