Back on Thanksgiving morning, my sister died, after 57 years on earth. She was always a large influence on me. And once more, at her funeral service, she left a mark. Everything boils down to a picture, a box, and a stone across the road.

There was a picture, a photograph, of her sitting next to the casket. I’m guessing it was taken 10 or 15 years ago. That image was of who she was physically at a particular point in her life. It was, in essence, the past.

The casket is basically a box and it is the place where she is now, again physically. It is, in essence, the present.

Across the road from the church where the picture and casket lay was a stone, a headstone. The stone will stand on her grave for the rest of time as we know it. It will be, in essence, the future.

And so the essence of life and death for all of us boils down to a picture, a box, and a stone across the road. You and me–a picture, a box, and a stone across the road.