What Is man that thou art mindful of him

We look out and see the moon waxing cold, a mere sliver of itself that once was in full silver glow. And we see the tides of the huge oceans rising and falling on the earth here below. And we ask ourselves as the ancients did, "What is man that thou art mindful of him?"

The ancient ones, here but for an instant as are we, gone -- gone with little trace of the immortality that is in them divine.

Do the tides pause to salute when death brushes a loved one by? No. The tides rise and the tides fall and the life of man is but a heartbeat in the cosmos of time. Adam lived almost a thousand years and it was but a day in the fabric of time; Abraham lived a mere one hundred years plus seventy and five, while Mama knew only four score and a half of ten -- a day scarcely begun.

Strong as an oak tree against the railing wind, firm as a mountain raking into the sky. Mama was a special one, like all of us, like no one else before.

The first thing I remember of Mama was not having her -- for she was gone. We came home and smoke was boiling from the hogan. Unmindful of the scorching heat and the hungry flames, Mama went to save all we had, and nearly died in the attempt.

I remember only that she was gone, a shield against the world that was no more. Fate had delivered me and Lib to a place where that shield was sorely needed. Lib was crying and the people there beat her with unmerciful intent, again and again until her wails died away and almost ceased.

From having a mother glad to see us when we walked in the door -- to a house where heavy fists drummed on tender flesh. When Mama was gone me and Lib discovered what a mother was for. All the material possessions we had ever known were gone in that raging fire. Choice food and dainty clothes were our daily lot where we stayed. But when Mama came back, we hurriedly left that immaculate house with our glad hearts nearly bursting and huge smiles on our faces -- for we were going home, with Mama.

It never failed after that. Mama was there in our times of need, to put a little dab of snuff on our wounds when we got too close to a wasp nest. Mama was there to pick and probe when the stickers pierced our callused feet. She was there when we went too far or found too much. Mama was there even when we did the unforgivable and all she could do was say, "Umm, umm, umm" as she shook her poor old graying head. "Yawl will be the death of me yet."

Mama's days were full of trouble with the earth in commotion, convulsing with awful war on the one hand, and the majestic thrust of invention on the other. Her days were but a heartbeat, now gone, a memory to be left tingling in us until we are gone. Just a memory for a little while, and then in this world no more.

And if this is all we let ourselves see then we cannot answer the question, "What is man that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?"

For if we are born only to be covered over with fresh turned earth and wetted sod, there is no reason for living. There Is no God.

The Scripture tells us: "For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor.

That face of Death you see here shall fail to hold our loved ones in the prison of the grave.

Even as the Son rose from the tomb, so too shall they surely see the angels salute them as they pass them by.

Mama's spirit which is eternal has already fled. She has passed the angels once more, passed them by, and found a new home, her old home. In the lush green fields of paradise. For man is a little lower than the angels only here on earth below. Mama came here from loftier spheres, trailing clouds of glory as she whisked by the angels.

"And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. So God created man in his (own) image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them."

This earth, our earth, made for man, made for us, may lay its proper claim and wrap its arms around Mama for just a short tine. But we are truly made in the eternal image of a Heavenly Father.

To the earth that claims her, in an infinite knowledge of life before, now and after, I too say "NO." You shall not hold her, nor keep her long. Christ has power over your prison, Christ has the key to take Mama up from the grave and bear her home.

It is true, her body may now be laid aside for a small moment, but my mother shall live forever. While we can see only the mortal coil, my mother is once more playing in the green fields of paradise far away. By this time she has found Grandpa, and her mother too. Aunt Pat is beside her, and Uncle Earl and Aunt Martha have welcomed her home once more. All her family, and friends once known, are there for her.

What is man that thou art mindful of him? I look now again upon the mortal coil that is left after life is gone and done, and to that ancient script I can honestly respond: "a child of God, a daring soul, One that never quit nor turned aside, a work of glory that shall never cease to be."

My mother was a daughter of Abraham, a loved one our Heavenly Father held dear. I know with a firm surety she is home now, with Him.

Click HERE to read parting words of Mama's funeral.
Click HERE to read more about funeral arrangements
Click HERE to learn how to cope more surely with death.
Click HERE for more help in facing the inevitable.

Lin Stone is an author, writer and photographer living in Mena Arkansas among the gentle mountains known as Ouachita. His articles and essays are syndicated by talewins to be published automatically on other web sites. He writes about adventures for Gates of Go, and he writes about the peaceable things of this world for Share Your State. In his spare time Lin writes copy for insurance roundup. You can have immediate, and free, reading of many more pieces when you send your little surfer scooting to Lin's home page at http://www.talewins.com/StoneSoup.htm where he keeps stirring up more good things for the soul.

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What Is Man that thou art mindful of him?

What Is Man
that thou art
mindful of him?