Dandelions

When Buttercup died, there were certain things I had to hold on to. A ceramic paw print. Her collar. Her favorite toys. Some clumps of her fur. Her clothes. But it struck me the other day that when I die, no one else will probably care to keep any of those things. Even her ashes and pictures will probably be thrown away after I'm gone. Which made me sad.

And then I started thinking about how quickly people are forgotten, too. All it takes is one or two generations to be completely forgotten. Unless you were really super famous or did something amazing (or horrendous) for mankind.

Then I thought about these verses in Psalm 103: "As for man, his days are like grass. He flourishes like a flower of the field. The wind blows over it, and it is gone; its place remembers it no longer."

All pretty depressing stuff, huh? We're so finite. And even in the context of God's everlasting love (which the Psalm continues about), it's sad to think that 100 years from now no one will know or care who I was.

But then I thought about that flower metaphor from the Psalm some more. And I thought about dandelions. Which aren't even really flowers, they're weeds...but indulge me. I thought about what happens when the wind blows over them...they are gone. But they've made an impact. The seeds that blow away will go on to produce more dandelions. And even though the little girl who picks those new dandelions and makes a bouquet for her mother won't have any idea where the seeds for that flower originated, the dandelion that blew away made its mark on this world.

That's when I realized I'm OK if 100 years from now, no one knows or cares about my name. As long as 100 years from now, something about the way I lived my life helped make the future a better place.