The First Baptist Church of Branford, CT

"Behold, I make all things new."
Jesus Christ

The family wended its way in slow procession to the cemetery.  One small vehicle and a few loved ones, treading across the concrete and grass, en route to the old Branford burial ground.

Upon their arrival it was noticed how the once spacious plain, overlooking the reedy waters, was now far more crowded with markers and headstones.  Each memorial in bronze or granite bore witness to the souls whose footsteps once imprinted the soil and sidewalks of our town.  Surely with every name and set of dates there was a unique story of hopes and fears, triumphs and tragedies.  Such is the truth of our potential and predicament.

Finding a promising spot with suitable grade and space, the first phase of the journey was complete.  The bike was then held steady as the little girl climbed onboard.  With no forward motion, simply practicing the crucial maneuver of turning into a tilt, the anxious four year old quickly found the confidence to attempt the as yet, untried and unproven.  Initially held fast, the sturdy muscles in her legs tensed and flexed as the child, formerly comforted by training wheels, pedaled strongly out of her father's relenting grasp.

With their young one gliding across the lawn, both mom and dad felt a surge of a potent and parental mixture of pride and fear.  It was the formula of affection that would rise up time and again, from the first days of Kindergarten, to the initial experience of college, and beyond.

Going some distance, and quite beyond initial expectation, Niue settled into an easy stop, leaping off the bike similar to a wrangler from a bound calf.  Alas, she had not been told how to rest and remain still.  Anxious to try again, the rather ungainly bike was pushed and dragged back to the same point of origin, with the same process started all over.  This time with even better results.

Soon the enthusiastic voyager was peddling the asphalt trail -- easier than the grass, but fraught with more danger.  With her dad's futile attempt at running alongside, and mom somewhat near the eventual destination, Niue was very much on her own.  Shouts of guiding encouragement filled the air as the precocious pre-schooler rolled speedily down the narrow lane.  Mysteriously upheld by the laws of physics, both unmistakable and also un-mastered, the little one still concluded each journey as if competing in a rodeo.  Yet, the moment was a great success and would rightfully take its place alongside the similar memories attached to the early years of Amanda and Billy.  Bumps and bruises must surely lie ahead, but with them will come even more enduring freedom and satisfaction.

Challenged to meet, or rather exceed, some unwritten, self-generated familial standard, Niue was most curious to know if her early attempts had gone better than the ones of her older and obviously perfect siblings.  Indeed, they had.  They always do.  Subjective recollection is the limitless fount of reassurance.

Thus it was, amidst the metal and stone symbols of life's inexorable mortality, a new chapter of promise and possibility was opened.  In what some might see as a parkland of despair and futility, an energetic child found a place of affirmation and accomplishment.

In this very spot, it was perceived symbolically and even more deeply that Jesus does indeed make all things, and places, new.  A familiar path, once comforting, yet restricting, was left behind.  In its place, an unknown, yet unlimited road was opened up.  It is not unlike the way of eternal life, where all struggles will give way to success, and those who fall, shall evermore be lifted up.