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Like graffiti on the wall of a subway tunnel,
like a hieroglyph on the wall of a cave,
we each make our mark on the Wall of Life.
“I was here!” we cry.
Because we WANT it to matter.
At the end of the Day, we want it to have mattered.
But will it matter?
Will it matter that I was here?
Will it matter that I lived?
Who can know, for sure?
Who can know the ultimate value of a life?
Aren’t we all just making it up as we go along?
In the midst of all that I cannot know for sure, this one thing I do know:
Love will last.
Love is worth something.
Love is worth everything.
So that when the Day dawns, and the fire burns, and the wood, hay, and stubble of my life is consumed, it’s the love that will last.
Lord, help me to love in such a way that my little hieroglyph on the wall of life, matters.