STORIES FROM LIFE

Westminster Abbey



I love stories. I love the different ways they come to me. Sometimes they are passed on by friends; sometimes by family. Some of them are written; some make their rounds by word of mouth. But sometimes they come through photos in family albums, and currently, through social media. I am quite technologically challenged, but I have learned enough to allow me to Facebook. I have not really learned the language except I know what “lol” means. When I read FB posts and look at pictures, I imagine stories behind them. I ask, “Why did he say that?” “Why does she talk about forgiveness all the time?”

This past weekend I went to a Goodwill store. Thrift stores interest me. They are full of stories. I find old family albums full of photos and wonder why no one was interested in keeping them. On this day, I saw two big beautiful paintings which looked very similar and with these were two beautiful antique-looking end tables. They probably came from the home of a senior citizen who had just passed away. Whoever it was had excellent taste. I would have bought the paintings except our little condominium has run out of walls for hanging more paintings.

Cemeteries are full of stories. A few years ago, Don and I visited the most famous of
them all, Westminster Abbey. It was a walk back into history. I would have loved having a week just to explore this hallowed ground. I stood before the coronation throne, silently carried on a conversation with the first Queen Elizabeth, who reigned over England’s golden age. I more than glared at Charles Darwin’s grave for trying to rob the Creator of the glory that belongs to Him.  It felt so unreal to walk in between the graves of the rich, very famous, very gifted and very powerful, icons of many, and indeed worshipped by some. I recalled stories told by Charles Dickens and thought about the milieu in which he lived. Lines of poetry from Tennyson, Shakespeare, Shelley which I have committed to memory years ago came rushing back to me. I’ve seen and touched graves of men and women who have made history and have helped shape my present world, men and women who were bigger than life.

My favorite part of Westminster Abbey, Poets' Corner, can be found in the South Transept. It is the burial place of writers, playwrights and poets; the first poet to be buried here was Geoffrey Chaucer. Then there were Alfred Lord Tennyson, John Dryden, Robert Browning, etc. Many writers, including Dr. Samuel Johnson, Rudyard Kipling and Thomas Hardy were also buried here. Charles Dickens' grave attracts particular interest.

By the time we got to sit down at the end of the day to take in the Vespers at the Westminster Abbey, we felt overwhelmed by the whole experience. We stood on hallowed ground, final resting place for these illustrious dead who have left their mark not only on England, but throughout the world. Once more their stories came alive.

Each one of us is a story.  Do you ever wonder what kind of story you are writing with your life?  I do.