Yesterday I went to the funeral of Sara Richmond, a dear, dear friend, confidant, woman of God.
Sara had a beatific smile, but it was the eye twinkle in those baby blues that gave her away every time, for Sara was no soft saint. Hers was a strength born of the proverbial ordeal by fire – lots of them, in fact. Having navigated the challenges of life herself, she was well-positioned to share the benefits of her experience with others, and she did, always with that grin.
Often during my own hard times, I would call Sara, lamenting the latest crisis, with excruciating detail. She always listened, with more patience than my rants deserved. And when I would finally draw breath, calmly, she would said, This too shall pass.
I didn’t like Sara much when she told me that. I knew she was right, but it’s not what I wanted to hear. It was, however, what I needed to hear – the reminder that nothing is permanent and that even woes will melt away in the tide of time.
But the day I remember best is the good day I was having. I thought I should call Sara and share the joy with her, having so often shared the sorrows. After listening to my breathless joys, calmly, serenely even, Sara spoke the dread words This too shall pass.
We both laughed at her gentle reminder that the moments we are given are just that: moments.
I rejoice in the moments that make up the life that was Sara Richmond.
And even as I mourn her absence, I hear her reminding me, This, too, shall pass.