I once completed an exercise that was somewhere along the lines of “Picture yourself at age 85 telling the story of your life. What would the big picture look like?“ I thoroughly enjoyed dreaming of my life, complete with a satisfying and happy marriage, well-adjusted and healthy children, church, service, travel, a meaningful job, close friendships, tons of fun and a beach cottage.
But when it comes down to it, if I could only be remembered for one thing, I would want that thing to be love. Despite my mistakes, despite my failures, despite my successes, despite my job title, I want to make a difference in other people’s lives. I want people to remember me – not for anything I did, but for how much I loved them. I want to be remembered for the hugs I offered when there were no words to speak. For the tears I cried with them in both happy and sad times. For the little words of encouragement I spoke that made their darkest days just a tad brighter. For believing in their dreams, even when they stopped believing in themselves. For knowing when to let go when it was the kindest thing I could do. For seeing their beauty and potential when everyone else turned their backs. For loving them on the days they felt the most unlovable.
When my time on earth has come to an end, I simply want my love to live on. I want to love others the way that God loves me.