“It’s a panty bag!!”
Last week, J and I were playing a game called Hedbanz. You put on a headband, throw a card in it so that only the other person can see it, and then guess what your card is.
The card on his head was a purple purse.
I said, “Man, buddy. I don’t even know if you know what this one is.”
Yours truly does not even own a purse; I carry a backpack or a fanny pack.
“Okay, it’s a type of bag ladies carry.”
He ponders and thinks, “Hmmm…. Hmmm… I know it’s purple.” (He’s played this game a few times before.)
Momma gives another hint, “It starts with a P!”
He excitedly shouts, “Oh! I know! A panty bag!”
…
Fanny pack. Panty bag. It sounds close, I suppose.
Life is splendid. It’s packed full of these little memories that you never want to forget.
Birth is an incredible miracle. Experiencing it, watching it…an absolute miracle.
Death is different. The last point on an earthly timeline. Heavy. Filled with sadness, at times relief, and an avalanche of emotions.
In his retirement, my dad takes care of my town’s cemetery. He mows, weed-eats around every single stone, marks the graves, and covers them after a graveside service ends. I wind up down there quite often, talking or being “trained” on how to do his job. As if I’m the one he’ll call if he’s ever too sick to move again; we all know he’ll be calling Ethan for backup – not me.
Cemeteries fascinate me. I’ve spent countless hours wandering and wondering through them.
How old were they?
How long did they live without their spouse? Their child?
He was in the military; I wonder what his letters were like. I wonder how many kids they had. I wonder what their house looked like. I wonder if they sat on the back porch and watched the sun set. I wonder if they had super intense love for one another or were they the type that more or less existed in the same space?
What was their job?
Were they nice people? Were they meanies?
Was their death sudden? Was it lengthy?
I wonder.
There are two dates.
The beginning.
The end.
But most of my questions are about the dash that connects the two.
There were monumental days.
Births.
Graduations.
Weddings.
Baptisms.
First steps.
First days of school.
First words.
Heartbreaking moments.
Fear.
Tragedies.
There were mundane days. Cooking and dishes and laundry and cleaning and work. There were hobbies and suppers. There were great suppers and suppers that consisted of a bowl of cereal. Maybe there were days when there weren’t suppers. Days when many were at the table and days when loneliness filled the space.
There were moments that made the “Best Day of My Life” list.
And days so dark, they wondered where joy wandered off to.
Grocery lists and ball games. Ball games of excitement and ball games of frustration.
Long drives in the car with screaming little humans.
Long drives in the car with sleeping little humans.
Two dates are listed, but the rest of it is concealed in a dash. Whether they lived five minutes or 105 years, the dash signifies everything I wonder about.
The dash signifies all but two breaths; the first and the last.
May 5, 1938 – March 29, 2025
Two dates and a dash that holds a lifetime.
New houses. New jobs. New friends. Losing friends. Hospital beds. Valleys. Mountain tops. Answered prayers. Unanswered prayers.
Two dates and a dash.
So much left to wonder about.
In a few years, I will revisit this old blog and be reminded of the panty bag, but in decades it will be forgotten because of its insignificance.
But it was significant.
To this mother.
It was a reminder of my six-year-old’s personality, joyfulness, and freckle-faced smile.
His laughter and kindness.
One day, all of our lives will be reduced to two dates and a dash. Afterward, there may be a story told for a few more decades here and there, but eventually nothing. This life is but a breath.
But at this moment, we are in the dash.
I want to pay attention.
Not to my own life, but to the lives around me. The people around me.
To the little things that may not feel noteworthy to most.
To the people who pull up a chair next to me and bring laughter to my life.
To the people who pull up a chair and bring reality.
To the hugs. The snuggles. The conversations.
To the ordinary Tuesday.
To the good days. To the bad.
To the expressions my eleven-year-old daughter is throwing at me this very second.
To the achievements and failures.
John 21:25 says, “Now there were also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose the world itself could not contain the books that would be written. Amen.”
This is a verse that makes me sit in wonder. Sometimes I become close-minded and think what’s written is all there was, but John 21:25 keeps me wondering about everything else that took place! Not only in His life, but in the lives of so many.
One day there will be two dates, but today we are living the dash and I simply want to pay attention.