On grave markers the granite carver scribes the date of birth and the date of death and often there is a “dash” in between. The date of birth was a momentous occasion, as well as the date of death, but neither had much to do with what one says or does. It is the dash in between that matters.
The dash is what we will receive rewards for, if we are saved, and it is also the part that determines punishment, if lost.
The dash is the part where joy was determined, where others are loved, where God is praised and worshipped. Grave markers ought to give little space to birth and death dates and devote the slab to the time of the dash.
What have you done with your dash? Are you glad that it is a little mark on the grave marker or would you feel joy to have the whole of your dash printed out for all to see?
What have you done with your dash? Remember it will be over in a dash as well. What does the Lord think of your dash? Won’t you put a vertical line through your dash, making a cross and spend your dash living for Christ? Diana did.
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July 8, 2007 at 4:45 pm
Diana was just in her forties when she left this world. But she touched more lives in that short time than many who are given twice that much. Her life was committed to making the lives of others better. A day didn’t go by that she wasn’t doing something for someone. She left two boys who were her world. She wanted her sons to grow up to be good men. Men who would make this world better. Men who saw beyond the temporal to the eternal. Men whose perspective was vast enough to see beyond the horizon yet perceptive enough to see the soul standing next to them. No, I am not talking about the Princess of Wales. It is another Diana that I remember. Diana Joy Cobler. She would have turned 50 this year.
Diana and I had a lot in common. We both came from families of five children, four girls and the youngest one, the boy. Our fathers both owned their own businesses, we had moms who more or less were the stay at home type. Diana was the oldest, the responsible one. I was the second, but also the responsible one; my older sister finding other things to occupy her time. More importantly, she and I shared one of those unusual bonds that only sister-in-laws, a.k.a. women who not only share the same mother-in-law but are married to men from the same gene pool, can understand. We shared the same frustrations, got the same jokes, shook our heads in amazement/disbelief/wonder at some of the things our men or M-I-L did or didn’t do. We would talk several nights a week while making dinner, she in her Chicago home and me in Michigan, about the days events, our husbands and kids, our dreams and supposed futures. I was five years older than Diana so, in many ways, was the closest thing she had to a big sister and had married thirteen years before she did so had a little more perspective on ‘the family dynamic’. I could explain to her how, no, that’s not crazy, that’s what normal looks like around here. I could go on and on but suffice it to say, without a single common strand of DNA, we were sisters.
One thing that always impressed me about Diana was what a true friend she was. Not just to me. She was surrounded by girlfriends. She invested her life in others. She had an uncanny ability to empathize, to feel another’s pain, joy, need and gave herself unselfishly to do whatever was necessary within her abilities to improve their lot; a meal, babysitting, a ride, a hug, a shoulder. If she had it to give, she gave. I asked her once why she did so much, and it almost was incomprehensible to her that what she did was unusual. Giving, serving to Diana was second nature. Not even second nature. It was her nature. It was who she was.
Diana suspected something was wrong late in the summer of 2000. When the cancer was discovered, it had already spread through her lymph system. Surgery, Chemo. Radiation. Lost hair. Lost dignity. Lost energy. Willing up strength to breathe through one more day was sometimes all she had enough for. Barely. Then, for a fleeting few months, it looked like it was conquered. Gone. Victory. We made it.
No.
New pain. New tests, New drugs. The final battle. I can’t even begin to count the number of times I drove to Chicago that fall. I do know that I memorized the trip so well that I knew when was the optimum time to leave to miss the rush, exactly which lane to be in at all times to glide through traffic in the most efficient way, to take the least amount of time to cover the 267 miles. Four hours, twenty minutes, if there were no traffic snags, including a 12 minute stop-enough time to fill the tank and grab a sub.
The hardest part for Diana was preparing to leave. She knew her life was ending. She had two young sons, barely 13 and still 10, old enough to undertand so much of what was going on, young enough to feel helpless, confused, impotent, still needing a mom. Her great despair: how could her husband be both father and mother? Would their sons’ young innocent faith be shattered by such unfairness? Over her last few weeks, I watched her slowly, gently release her boys. She had no idea how it would all work out, but she found peace knowing that it would. She exhaled into glory on December 22, 2001.
I will not go into detail here but her husband, Randy, has been a great mother and father to the boys. The oldest early on had to choose how he would live, what his priorities would be, and what kind of a man he wantd to become. He chose well. He graduated from high school this year and will head to college in another month. The younger has his mom’s pure spirit, genuine care for others and a wonderful sense of who he is. They are both young men of honor and are respected and admired by anyone who has the pleasure of knowing them. If Diana takes time once in a while to look down to see how things are going, I know she smiles.
Next month is the Chicago Three Day Walk for the Cure. Thousands will walk. Randy will walk in Diana’s memory, survivors will walk to give hope, family members and friends will walk to remember a lost warrior, strangers will walk because it’s the right thing to do: all to help raise money to one day find the cure so that others will not lose their moms, daughters, sisters and friends. Ironically, the walk will conclude on what would have been Diana’s 50th birthday.
July 16, 2007 at 6:02 pm
God Bless you Randy! We lost Tom’s sister Pat to breast cancer nearly 5 years ago. Both she and Diana were amazing women.