The world is golden-washed in early evening sunlight. A gull wheels low, brown and speckled—a juvenile. We make our way down a paved path that winds its way through a profusion of flowers along the Lake Ontario shoreline.
Five, huge turkey vultures swoop almost close enough to touch. We spot them later, feasting on fish carcasses coughed up by the lake. Indeed, the water churns—its raw, swirling power ripping up the beach—and we have raise our voices to be heard above the roar.
My oldest girl is rollerblading. It’s her second time and she falls again and again. But she keeps getting up, always with a smile. I’m proud of her determination.
Earlier today, my aunt’s homecoming service was at a church that has always felt like home to me. Her children rose up and called her blessed. Her husband, also, he praised her. As did many others. Precious memories spilled over in honour of a life well-lived.
A life well-loved.
I sat in one of the pews I’ve known since childhood and pushed back the tears as familiar and dear hymns swirled and mingled with beautiful stories about a beautiful woman who lavished her family with love.
A legacy I pray I’m passing on to my children. We live and breathe grace.
As my daughter and I make our way along the shoreline, her determination unshaken by bruised knees and roaring waves.
As the girls and I gather around the table each morning, praying together and learning about Jesus.
As I wash dishes, sweep floors and kiss scraped elbows.
Even as I apologise to my children time and time again for my mistakes. There are many.
I don’t always recognise that the myriad of everyday tasks are legacy-building moments. But today, I was reminded.
“May all who come behind us find us faithful.”
Those words, read this morning by my cousin, resonate deep. I’m going to leave the song here, a prayer.
But as those who’ve gone before us
Let us leave to those behind us
The heritage of faithfulness
Passed on through godly lives
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful