11490 Forest Road, Forest, VA

Church #182 continues to take me to places that may look a little different from the sanctuaries I imagined visiting when this journey began more than three years ago. This week, church happened in our indoor chapel at Virginia Memorial Park, where I had the privilege of serving a precious family as they gathered to celebrate the life of someone they loved.

There are moments in my work when I find myself standing in the middle of a room, looking around at the people God has brought together, and realizing that I am witnessing something far more meaningful than an event on a schedule. I am witnessing love. I am witnessing the evidence of a life that mattered. I am witnessing people who have come together because someone they loved has left fingerprints on their hearts that death cannot erase.

The family was so incredibly kind, and it was an honor to walk alongside them during such a tender time. Scott Bullman sang beautifully and shared a wonderful, inspiring message that spoke to the hearts of those gathered. The family shared memories, including a one-of-a-kind love for the Dallas Cowboys, and I could not help but smile as I listened. There was laughter in the room, even as tears were being wiped away. There were hugs that lasted a little longer than usual, stories that brought back familiar smiles, and moments that could be felt without anybody having to say a word. We were not simply remembering the day a life ended. We were celebrating the beautiful, ordinary, extraordinary life that had been lived between the beginning and the goodbye.

Later, we stood together at the grave, held hands, and prayed. There is something about standing beside a grave that makes the rest of the world grow quiet for a moment. The things that seemed so urgent that morning suddenly do not feel nearly as important. The phone calls can wait. The emails can wait. The endless list of things that need to be accomplished can wait. Standing there, surrounded by people who loved someone enough to gather and remember, I was reminded again that life is precious, time is a gift, and the people God places in our lives are worth far more than the things we spend so much of our time chasing.

As we stood together in that moment of peace and remembrance, one word kept pressing on my heart.

Eternity.

What does it really mean to live a life that matters when we know that our time on this earth is temporary? What are we supposed to do with the days God has given us? What will remain when our work is finished, our belongings have been passed along, and the people who love us are standing where I stood with this family? I think about those questions often now, probably more than I ever did before losing my mom and beginning this work. Death has a way of changing the questions you ask about life. Things that once seemed so important can suddenly feel very small, while the moments you barely noticed when they were happening become the ones you would give anything to experience again.

I have heard people talk about the dash between the birth date and the date of death on a grave marker, and I have always thought that was a beautiful way to describe a life. Two dates, separated by one small line, representing every breath, every birthday, every heartbreak, every accomplishment, every ordinary Tuesday, every prayer, every friendship, every meal shared around a table, and every person whose life was changed because someone else was here.

But this week, as I thought about that dash, something else settled into my heart. When our dash is finished, we are no longer the ones who get to explain what it meant. The people we loved will tell that story. The people we served will tell that story. The people we encouraged, forgave, helped, taught, laughed with, and sat beside when their hearts were breaking will tell that story. And sometimes, the most meaningful parts of our lives will be remembered in ways we never would have thought to include in our own obituary.

I have listened to families share the accomplishments of the people they love, and those accomplishments deserve to be honored. A lifetime of hard work, service, dedication, education, and achievement can represent tremendous sacrifice. But when families begin sharing their favorite memories, I often notice something even more beautiful happening. The conversation moves beyond the timeline of a person’s accomplishments and into the little details that made that person unmistakably themselves.

This week, it was a love for the Dallas Cowboys.

Another family shared memories of someone who loved the T-room.

Another remembered a love for pasta, and I have to say, yes, please, all the pasta!

Another family shared memories of linen and lavender wax warmers, while another spoke about a love for masonry.

And the list goes on and on and on.

Thank God for that.

Because those details may seem small to someone who did not know the person, but to the people who loved them, they are anything but small. A football game is no longer just a football game when it reminds you of someone who used to cheer from their favorite chair. A familiar meal can bring back the sound of a voice you miss. A certain fragrance can make you feel, for just a moment, as though someone you love has walked into the room. A place you have visited a hundred times can suddenly become precious because of the person who always loved going there.

The world may remember our accomplishments, but the people closest to us remember how it felt to share a life with us. And I wonder how often we overlook the importance of those ordinary moments while we are busy trying to build a life full of importance. We work so hard to make a name for ourselves. We worry about titles, promotions, money, recognition, and whether we are doing enough. We compare our progress to the progress of others. We tell ourselves that once we accomplish one more thing, reach one more goal, or finally get everything in order, we will have time to enjoy the life we have worked so hard to create.

But what if we are spending so much time trying to make our lives count that we are missing the very people who make our lives worth living? What if the moment that will mean the most to someone after we are gone is happening right now, while we are distracted by something that will not matter five years from now? What if the memory they will carry for the rest of their lives is the afternoon we stopped working long enough to listen to their story, the time we showed up when nobody else did, the meal we made because we knew they were having a hard day, or the way we laughed together over something so ridiculous that neither of us could stop?

We spend our lives trying to create memories worth remembering, never realizing that someone who loves us may already be living inside a moment they will spend the rest of their life wishing they could have back.

The ordinary afternoon you are hurrying through might become someone’s most precious memory of you. The hug you barely thought about giving might be the one they remember when they need comfort years from now. The voice they hear every day might become the voice they wish they could hear just one more time. The person sitting beside you right now might someday give anything to sit beside you again.

That is why I keep coming back to the same sermon throughout this journey.

Love people. Really love them. Love them while you can look them in the eyes. Love them while you can hold their hands. Love them while you can hear their laughter and listen to their stories. Love them while you can sit across the table and argue about football teams, share a plate of pasta, or laugh about something nobody else in the world would understand. Because one day, those little things may become the very things that help someone remember the enormous love they were blessed to experience.

But Church #182 did not leave me thinking only about what we leave behind. It left me thinking about what lies ahead.

Eternity.

Ecclesiastes 3:11 tells us that God has set eternity in the human heart. I think there is a reason we long for something beyond the years we are given here. We were created by an eternal God, and no matter how much we accomplish or accumulate in this life, there is a part of us that knows we were made for something more.

Jesus said in John 11:25, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.”

What a promise. What a Savior!

Death is real, and grief is real. I have stood beside enough families and cried enough of my own tears to know that faith does not make goodbye painless.

For those who belong to Christ, our hope is not simply that people will remember us after we die. Our hope is that Jesus has made a way for eternal life with Him. And that changes how I think about the dash.

The dash matters because the life we live matters to God. The way we love people matters. The way we treat strangers matters. The way we serve when nobody is watching matters. The way we use the gifts, opportunities, and time God has gifted to us matters.

But the dash is not our eternity.

It is the time we have been given to live in response to the love of God who holds eternity in His hands.

Jesus tells us in Matthew 6:19–21 not to store up treasures on earth, where they can be destroyed or lost, but to store up treasures in heaven. He reminds us that where our treasure is, our heart will be also.

I have been thinking about what that means for me. I cannot take my paycheck with me. I cannot take my job title with me. I cannot take my house, my car, my books, or anything else I have worked to accumulate. And one day, somebody else will be responsible for deciding what to do with all the things I spent so much time worrying about.

But the love I gave while I was here mattered to the people who received it. The prayers I prayed mattered. The kindness I extended mattered. The opportunities I had to tell someone about Jesus mattered. The moments I chose compassion over convenience mattered. Not because any of those things could earn me a place in heaven. Salvation is God’s gift of grace through Jesus Christ, not a reward for collecting enough good deeds. They matter because a life touched by the love of Jesus should leave evidence of that love wherever it goes.

And maybe that is what I want my dash to say…

I want the people whose lives crossed mine to remember that I loved them.

I want my family to remember that even when life was hard, I tried to make time for them. I want the families I have served to remember that they were never just an appointment on my calendar or a responsibility on my schedule. I want the people who have followed this church journey to remember that Jesus kept showing up, even when my own heart was breaking and I was struggling to understand what He was doing.

And more than anything, I want whatever people remember about me to point them toward Jesus.

One day, the people I love may stand beside my resting place and talk about my dash, but I will have already stood before Jesus who gave me every moment of it. And when I think about that, I realize how little I care about being remembered as someone important. I want to be remembered as someone who understood what was important.

I want to have loved people well. I want to have served faithfully. I want to have used what God placed in my hands instead of spending my life wishing I had what He gave someone else. I want to have forgiven where forgiveness was needed, made room for grace, and never become so busy trying to build a life that I forgot to actually live the one He gave me.

And perhaps that is the most beautiful thing about this journey.

After 182 churches, I am still learning what it means to live for eternity while loving people in the present. I am learning that a funeral can preach a sermon to the living if we are willing to listen. I am learning that a family laughing about the Dallas Cowboys can remind us that joy and grief are allowed to sit in the same room. I am learning that standing at a grave can make us more grateful for the people sitting at our dinner tables. And I am learning that the best way to prepare for eternity is not to become so consumed with tomorrow that we forget to love the people God has placed in front of us today.

So tell your people you love them.

Go to the football game.

Eat the pasta.

Listen to the story you have heard a hundred times.

Give the hug.

Say the prayer.

Sit a little longer.

And when you have the opportunity to show someone the love of Jesus, do not wait until you have more time, more money, more energy, or a more impressive title. Love them with what you have today. Because the dash is being written right now. And one day, when the dates have been carved into granite, and the people who love us are gathered together to remember, I pray the stories they tell will be filled with the kind of love that makes them laugh through their tears.

And I pray that somewhere in the middle of those memories, they will see a little more of Jesus.

Church #182 happened in the indoor chapel at Virginia Memorial Park, surrounded by a family who loved deeply, a beautiful message from Scott Bullman, memories that brought both laughter and tears, and a peaceful moment of prayer as we stood together at the grave.

I walked away reminded that every person I serve has a story far greater than the dates on a marker, and every person I meet is living a story that is still being written.

Including me.

My own heart is still slowly being placed back together in the middle of all this brokenness. There are days when I can feel God healing places I thought would always hurt, and there are other days when grief finds me in the most unexpected moments. I am still learning how to live with what I have lost while remaining grateful for everything God has given me. I am still learning to trust Him with the chapters I cannot see, and I am still discovering that He can use a heart that is not completely healed to love another heart that is hurting.

Perhaps that is one of the greatest gifts He has given me.

I do not know where the Holy Spirit will lead next week, but I am here, ready and willing, with an open heart that Jesus is still patiently putting back together.

And while He continues writing my dash, I pray that every step I take will lead me closer to Him and leave a little more of His love behind for someone else.

Because when my earthly story is finished, I do not need the world to remember my name. I want the people who knew me to remember how much Jesus loved them through me.

Love you all so very much,

Annie Stewart Lambert