A crowd was carrying candles and processing down the front steps of St. John Chrysostom Melkite Catholic Church in the evening on Good Friday. When it was my turn to go down the steps, I asked the man beside me for assistance, and he graciously obliged. We introduced ourselves and he said, “I’ve seen you at liturgy, you help with the children.”  

Frankly, the remark was the greatest compliment of my life. People have spoken words of praise for my columns and my books, but no one has ever connected me with children. This fellow’s remark made me think about what really matters in our lives. It’s tempting to believe people will stand beside our graves and talk about how great we were at our jobs or what an astonishing game of golf we played. These are fine accomplishments, but what folks tend to remember are the more ineffable moments. 

One of the most poignant prayers ever uttered came from the “good thief” crucified next to Jesus: “Lord, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus assured him, “This day you will be with me in paradise,” and this man went down in history as someone granted mercy at the last moment. The thief’s prayer echoes what exists in our hearts, a desire that the Lord will never forget us in our suffering.  

The man helping me down the stairs was referring to the two girls, who, along with their Mom, sit next to me during liturgy. Sometimes I encourage them to sing and read the prayers, and they give me the joy of glimpsing the world through a child’s eyes. When the big wooden cross was placed before the altar on Good Friday, the youngest one stood motionless, staring at it. During a 10-year memorial service for my husband, these girls snuggled against me, as the choir intoned “May his memory be eternal.”  

“You can’t take it with you,” is absolutely true when it comes to fat bank accounts and glittering gold, which will ultimately dwindle to words in a will. The real question is not about what we take, but the memories we leave. St. John of the Cross wrote, “At the evening of our lives we will be judged on our love. Learn to love as God desires to be loved and abandon your own ways of acting.” We are called to a love that is selfless and merciful. We are called to create shining moments for others.  

My late husband shaped lasting memories for our godson by drawing pictures with him every Sunday after Mass. I will always remember my Uncle Johnny, who showed me how to scoop strawberries from the jam jar. I recall how my father asked for extra forks when he ordered dessert in a restaurant, because his wife and daughters were always dieting, but they wanted a taste, nonetheless.  

Sometimes we might take a moment to reflect on how we will be remembered. As for me, I would be honored if folks thought of me as a woman who helped with the children at church. A woman who did not have her own children but loved the little ones of others. I cannot think of a more beautiful epitaph.