We all leave holes behind when we die. But not all holes are good holes. Some are more like bullet holes, gaping wounds that scar over badly.
But as I look at the holes my Dad leaves after his recent death, I see them as ones which will be filled mostly with gratitude as time goes by. Right now, they just hurt. They’re holes after all. But they’re the good kind, the ones happy memories are made of.
And so I think about the holes I’ll leave behind. Will they be scarred over with bitterness by those I’ve hurt? Will they be deep and meaningful and filled with joy and love and laughter and faith and friendship?
Thank you, Dad, for showing me how to leave good holes behind. Yours are holy holes that light shines through, that makes my heart swell.