A Memorial, A Journey | Dawne Long
So Rachel died and was buried on the way to Ephrath. Jacob set a memorial on her grave; that is the pillar of Rachel’s grave to this day. Then Jacob journeyed on. (Genesis 35:19-21)
Celebrated and recorded in the Old Testament is the love story of Jacob and Rachel. Jacob was sent back to his mother’s hometown and family to escape a vengeful murder from his older but still twin brother upon the death of their father, Isaac. Upon his arrival, he sat at the well, saw the shepherdess Rachel, watered her sheep, and returned home with her that evening. He offered his services to her father Laban for seven years, with his only payment being Laban’s permission to marry Rachel. Genesis 29:20 records,
“So Jacob worked seven years to pay for Rachel. But his love for her was so strong that it seemed to him but a few days.”
His love did not measure time but only the anticipation of marrying his true love, which makes her father’s scheming trick even crueler.
After the marriage ceremony, Jacob discovered he had not married Rachel but her older sister Leah. He struck a further deal with Laban and willingly worked seven additional years for Rachel. He loved her dearly with a passion that did not fade with time nor with her inability to have children for so many years. Eventually dying in childbirth, their story had an unexpected end, and the grief of Jacob catapulted many additional Bible stories and altered the history of the new nation of Israel. The Bible notes that Jacob set a memorial on her grave… and then Jacob journeyed on.
God commanded memorials to be built throughout Israel’s history. In Joshua 4:24, He had the twelve stone memorial built to teach future generations of the people’s passage through the Jordan River on dry land upon finally reaching the Promised Land. As a diligent Father, He continually used physical objects to teach spiritual truths to His children.
Not as dramatic as Jacob and Rachel’s epic, my own story had an unexpected end, and I needed a memorial to mark the memory of a life that I loved just as dearly. My husband died and was buried in a small, quiet cemetery not far from our home. Unlike Jacob, I did not journey on. I continued to visit that small piece of land under two scraggly trees quite often and season after season. It was a pleasant place to stop at the end of a week or even the end of a day. It was a quiet spot to mark the family occasions he was missing. It was a meeting place to pray, listen to music, or just watch the clouds pass. Again, unlike Jacob, there was no memorial on the grave.
I struggled over the purchase of a gravestone and the choices to be made. I wondered if I should add my name to the stone. I hesitated on even where to buy such a purchase and took solace in the encouragement of friends and family that it was indeed my decision to make. Looking back with hindsight that always seems so clear, I think I realized it was one of the last and truly final decisions to make for him and for our life together. Hesitating gave us a bit more time together. After two and a half years and on our wedding anniversary, I went to a florist that sold gravestones in a back room, picked out a joint marker, gave the necessary details, and marked a life’s beginning on earth and ending in Heaven. Tears came as I remembered all the days in between and grieved for all the days that forever would not. And then I waited for the stone to come. Driving in the cemetery, my car followed the path’s curve that would bring the grave to view, and I expectantly held my breath for a first sighting. For so long, I was content with the smooth grassy site, but once the decision was made, I felt nervous and eager to see the result.
On Christmas Eve, after celebrating with my children and their children, I made a late-night stop at the cemetery as I felt that the time was here. As my headlights turned the corner, the beams lit up a large grey piece of granite. Marveling at my foreknowledge, I slipped out of my still-running car and walked the short distance to the plot. Standing alone in the cold on the most celebrated of nights, I read the names forever etched on the front and forever linked together again.
The pain that flashed through my heart felt like a hot strike of lightning. All the things that would never be and all the happiness that was in the past lit up my mind like a fast, speedily projected movie. But in the mere seconds it took for a quiet sob to escape my throat, a calming peace from God quickly filled my heart. I could feel the loops in a circle tying together, loose ends meeting, and the resolution one feels at the ending of a very good story. The memorial was in place, our names joined together, and it was time to journey on.
Jacob left the physical presence of Rachel’s grave while I am still physically located near mine. But journeying on does give me the power to assign a meaning to the stone. The twelve stone memorial God instructed Joshua to direct is purposed in Joshua 4:24,
“This is so that all peoples of the earth may know that the Lord’s hand is strong so that you may always fear the Lord your God.”
Just as it was my decision when to buy the gravestone and the actual engraving, it is my decision as to what I am memorializing.
Journeying on does not have to mean moving on with my life and leaving him behind. Grief is not linear or resolved, nor does it end. The memorial does not have to represent an ending but a continuation of a story. Although the previous chapter is sad, it also contains tales of a faithful God who never leaves, joyous memories of the love of family and friends, and a promise that this grave is not the end of the story. The open dates under my name on the gravestone remind me there are more chapters to live. I choose to memorialize that God is still and always faithful, His hand is strong, and He is good even when I do not understand. His promises are true. He promises all things will work together for my good. Because the One who holds the future also holds my hand, I can journey on.