A personal note for as many people as possible: Today, in a small church in Iowa, I sat in the last row of the second overflow room for the service of Jacob Johnson. In truth, I hardly knew him. I took his acquaintance for granted. The last time he and his wife visited, I was too busy to see them. The time before that, I brooded darkly with heavy questions about his work; pridefully challenging him to strike out on his own as a response to his practical laments. As though independence and self-sufficiency are life's great secrets. In weakness, I can be aloof. But when I heard that his thirty-year-old heart ruptured last Saturday, and that just like that, he was gone, my own heart rose to meet the hidden knowledge I had of this young man. That he was freely kind to all. That he loved deeply, and without restraint. That in spite of the hatred and darkness that surrounded him, he was an optimist, and that he lived to carry a light. And that instead of dwelling on the obstacles people like me presented, he celebrated who we were—as if to show us how. And so, I came here because I have started to suspect that for all we're keen to measure in life—worth, years, usefulness, talent—we are known in death by our love. But we have so much to distract us, and none of us are made with the flourish that Jacob was. Yet we each have enough of whatever it is that animates us to test the origin of our cynicism and to reject its outward growth. We all have the warnings and the inspiration necessary to find within ourselves a vision for living whatever unique love we are made of, and each vision will be different. Why do we wait? As for you, Jacob, you were a natural. You were wonderful, and your light only grows.

robertjosiahさん(@robertjosiah)が投稿した動画 - 2017/01/08 08:00:14