The Graves of Wright’s Chapel

Then the Lord said to Jacob, “Return to the land of your fathers and to your kindred and I will be with you.” (Genesis 31:3)

Every Memorial Day weekend members of my family along with others from the small, rural community of Ben Lomond, Arkansas gather together for a potluck dinner at Wright’s Chapel.  Wright’s Chapel is the small, community-run, local cemetery.  After the potluck dinner we walk the graves, cleaning the grounds and placing flowers as we go.  There are members from both sides of my family buried in this small cemetery.  I have cousins, uncles and aunts, grandparents, great-grandparents, and even great-great grandparents buried at Wright’s Chapel.

I love going to Wright’s Chapel, especially on Memorial Day weekend because of the stories.  As I walk the graves at Wright’s Chapel with my family I hear stories about those buried there—scandalous stories about wives and husbands, heroic stories about war vets, countless tales about country living, people who grew up in a distant time which is so foreign to my modern world, babies who died at birth, people who lived over a century.   

In telling stories and placing flowers I am always consciously aware of the timeline of the graves; the older graves are at the entrance while the more recent ones are near the back.  Somewhere at the midpoint of the walk I begin to notice people who died during my own lifetime.  As I continue walking deeper into the cemetery I begin to notice markers of people who are still alive; my grandmother who will be buried next to my grandfather, plots owned by living aunts and uncles and cousins who are not that much older than I am.  Like clockwork my Dad always points out the space that he has purchased for he and my Mom.  I begin to think about which space will be mine.  I realize that I want to buried at Wright’s Chapel with my family. 

I begin thinking how weird it is that I want to be buried here in the middle of nowhere Arkansas.  As I process these thoughts I think, “Why do I feel this way?”  I feel this way because I value my family—being around them, celebrating life and death with them.  I love hearing stories of family members.  Wright’s Chapel is a part of those stories.  I want to be a part of those stories.

What is it about having a place among the graves at Wright’s Chapel that is so romantic to me?  Maybe it’s the desire of belonging—I want to belong somewhere.  My family has a place.  I want a place. 

I am definitely a part of a young generation that is becoming increasingly mobile.  We are a generation with temporary places, temporary connections, and temporary stories.  I long for something more.  I long for a connection which lasts, a connection which has a past, a connection which tells me from whom I come, to whom I belong.  Wright’s Chapel is that place. 

As I reach the back of the cemetery and reflect upon my the day’s events I feel the warm embrace of belonging that only a place holding the flesh of my ancestor’s could provide.  I feel like I belong.  I feel like I am home.  I feel like I am a part of something…a part of a larger story.  I have returned to the land of my father’s.