A Place to Call Home (Peaceful reflections in a cemetery)

     One of the Lord’s many gifts to me is the close proximity of my family roots. Ft. Collins is only an hour away from me. I feel connected to this place my dad’s family helped to build over a hundred years ago. My roots are here. A good portion of my dad’s family (4 generations back) are buried here.  They arrived with so little and yet became a part, not only of building a city but also of a university.

      Being a bit of a moving nomad, I am so thankful for a place to come and find my footing again. This is a place where I can come and feel grounded again. This is a place I can call ‘home’ in the sense that my roots are here.

     Better still than a physical heritage, I have a spiritual one as well. My great-great-great grandparents landed in what is now the Laporte/Greely area in 1862. I am unaware of their personal relationships with Jesus. I don’t know about their daughter, Anna, or her husband - the town drunk - either. I do know that their granddaughter- my great-grandmother Elizabeth - knew Jesus. Her daughter-in-law Marlene (my grandmother) knew Him as well. Both of them were strong women who were married to men who weren’t always present in the life of the family. Even though I never met either of them, I know a little bit of their stories and know that, because of Jesus, some day I will. I feel a kinship with both of them. We are part of His family and I will get to spend eternity with them.

   Here, in the quiet, with the wind rustling the leaves of the leaves of the trees, surrounded by the ones who have gone before, I find a place to rest and belong.