I sit on a cold gravestone with the name Roxanne engraved in it. Wind lashes at my hair, tugging it one way and then another, carrying a few crumpled leaves in its path. I think about what has carried me so far and what I have carried so far.
My
friends, my faith, my memories – they all rush at me at once while I sit on a
grave listening to the wind rush into my ears.
Looking up into the darkening sky, I remember blue sky, snow-covered trees, sweet-tasting waters, and color. Color falling all around me.
The Giver by Louis Lowry describes an ancient man who had to carry every memory of the world in his head. Some of his memories are like the ones I have, but they were only memories; they couldn’t happen again. He was the only person in his community who had these kinds of memories. The Giver, they called him, carried one big load.
The Giver carried courage and strength to be able to carry the world’s memories. Sometimes I wish I could carry strength and courage. I carry the will to fight, but I just don’t have the courage or the power to fight back for what I want. Some things just aren’t possible to get back. I realize this, so I carry the feel of defeat.
Something starts itching and I shift positions. The gravestone I’m sitting on catches my eye. There is no message. There is no last name. Just a birth date and death date, and one bold name – Roxanne – deeply carved into the stone.
Words can be very powerful; they can have good power or bad power. One word can make someone very upset, or very happy. There could be one ominous word stretching itself through someone’s brain, and stay with them for quite a long time. I carry many words and solitary words in my head.
I carry words of my own that haunt me. I carry words of others that stick with me. I carry some words that carry me through hard times.
I carry the words of a friend that helped me through a time of confusion.
I carry the words of God that helped me through times of doubt and sorrow.
I carry the pain of knowing that I have hurt someone with horrible words that were never meant to leave my foul mouth. I carry the amazement of knowing unconditional love.
I wonder what kind of words Roxanne carried.
The wind squeals in my ear and I look up from the grave into the sky. Lightning bolts fill the sky, and I hear the drums of a storm coming out of the grayness. I stare at the awesome fireworks in the sky and as a bat flies by trying to catch its dinner.
Looking up into this sky so full of life makes me want to shout out God’s name, but all I do is stare in awe and begin to wonder at God’s creation. I have carried many doubts about my faith and many doubts about whether or not there is a real God. I carry prayers around for days, just stuck in my head that are never really lifted up to Him. I carry the thought that God is never going to answer them, so why bother?
But this sky shows me his great power, and I lift up a prayer to him right here, right now. I carry the knowledge that He is real and true. I carry the knowledge of the Lord’s power and His love, which surges through every fiber of my being.
The storm moves closer and I must leave soon. I look out across the land and look in the directions where my friends live. I lift another prayer to God, silently asking for their safety. My friends have carried me many times when I felt like crawling down into a hole.
It starts to hail, and I run to my house pretending that I am able to anticipate where the next ice-ball will fall and dodge it. My front door screams “Shelter, hurry!” but I ignore it and give one last look to the ongoing fireworks in the sky.
I give one last look to God’s power, to Roxanne, and to the wind that reminds me of many other windy days filled with color.
I will carry this memory and carry my graveyard contemplation for later days to come. For now there is hot chocolate and a family’s love to go to.