According to my local newspaper, a dollar.
For obituaries anyway.
My friend Stan’s dad died Friday night. Mr. Stephens had been hurting for awhile. This summer was especially hard on him. So after 85 years of living, his body said enough.
Stan came over Saturday for wordsmithing help with his dad’s obituary. We counted words. A dollar a word.
How do you price a man’s life?
You say what you want to say, need to say.
The value of words isn’t cheap.
Mr. Stephens’ life was full of chapters. He fought in the Pacific during World War II. He raised two sons. He loved four grandkids and lost one. He became a great-grandfather. He remained faithful to the same woman for over 60 years. And is faithful to the Lord still.
Do you get the picture?
But in the autumn of his life, his words were leaving him.
His granddaughter Christi picked them up at his funeral yesterday. Words that painted the special bond between a grandfather and a granddaughter. Words that came from years of stories. Words that drew tears from each of us.
Words that were priceless.
The colors outside my window Monday morning had to be captured.
Pictures are important.
Even in death and dying times—God still paints with shades of blaze.
Listen to what He wants to say, needs to say.
He’s already paid for every word.
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