In 2001, on my 15th birthday, a friend of my parents was killed in a motorcycle accident. He hit a deer on a road I’d never traveled before. Back then it was just another town and just another road to me. But now, that road is a quick jog from where I’m living and raising my family. I drive it all the time, and every time I pass the cross put up in his memory, with the Mountain Dew bottle attached, his favorite drink, I think of him.
I hardly knew him personally, but I can still picture his outgoing spirit. He had this way of making people feel at ease. From the outside, with his typical biker look, he didn’t “look” like someone who would radiate love, but he did. That’s what I’ve come to realize: sometimes you just know good people by their love.
His funeral overflowed with people. There were so many in attendance that the staff were scrambling to hook up speakers so those standing outside could hear. Someone joked about breaking a fire code, though I was too young at the time to even understand what that meant, I know now fire code was definitely broken that day
All I knew was this: This is the kind of funeral I’d like to have someday, one where love fills the room, and where people gather to remember how they were loved, not just what you did.
That day planted a seed in me. At 15, I started to think about Heaven in a more real way. I pictured entering its gates not quietly, but on a summer day, sunlight warm, tears of my family and friends being dried by gentle breezes. I imagined the people I’ve known standing around, sharing stories that would make me blush and smile from Heaven. I realized that the way you live on earth, how you love, how you serve, how you make people feel, shapes not just your legacy, but your witness of Christ to others.
My bigger hope is this: that my life right now points people to Jesus. That when my time comes, the people standing around my memory will be able to say, “I saw Christ’s love in her.” Because that’s what really matters.
This friend of my parents left me a legacy he probably didn’t even know he’d left. Every time I drive past that cross, it’s a reminder to live a life full of love, because someday, we’ll all step off our “highway” and into eternity. If we’ve lived with Christ at the center, that moment won’t be one of fear, but of homecoming.
Leave a Reply