SEVEN POUNDS OF DUST

These words are difficult to write, but here I go: Today, surrounded by family, we’re spreading Linda’s ashes in Puget Sound. My heart overflows with memories. I know I’ll see her again, and that brings me great comfort. I don’t have it in me to write a fresh article, so I’m sharing these thoughts I wrote shortly after Linda died. They profoundly fit today’s occasion. Thanks for all your prayers.

 A few weeks after Linda died, my daughter, Tiffany, and I picked up her remains from the mortuary. After arriving home, I stared at the box and absorbed this surreal moment. Then reality hit me like a sledgehammer. I knew the real Linda wasn’t there, but all that remained of her body—her physical life—was contained in that box. Twenty-eight years as a business owner. Fifty years as a wife. Sixty-eight years as a human … And it all came down to … seven pounds of dust. All her energy and toil; her good days and bad days; her joys and sorrows; all the matters of earth she loved and hated, ended up in a box containing seven pounds of dust.

Perhaps we should step back and put our seven pounds of dust in perspective. Ecclesiastes 12:7 declares, “The dust returns to the ground it came from, and the spirit returns to God who gave it.” Likewise, Psalm 90:3 states, “You turn people back to dust.” Seven pounds to be exact.

I don't mean this to sound morbid. We all need a profound reminder of why we’re here on this planet. Not to make a big name for ourselves or accumulate possessions or gratify our flesh—but simply to honor Jesus.

We were made for more than this life. We were created for eternity. When we grasp that truth—grasp it deep inside—it transforms everything. Enjoy life now. But invest our lives in things that last. As we engage in temporal matters, keep our focus on what endures. Because everything else is simply seven pounds of dust.