I was here! (God was too.)

A new bridge is being constructed alongside the old one we travel daily - connecting us to work and school on the other side of the Mississippi River. For months the slow-moving, single lane of traffic has given us a good view of the construction being done both on and below the bridge.

Unfortunately, just as soon as the mammoth section of the new bridge was completed on the north end, the top third was covered with a giant swath of bright yellow graffiti. Someone was willing to risk life and limb, a misdemeanor and hefty fine to leave an impression on those headed toward downtown.

At the Bible camp where I worked years ago, the frames of the bunk beds were sanded down and repainted every fall. Over the course of each summer, campers would use whatever they could find to carve their names into the wood - letting the world know they had been there, had hiked those trails, worshiped at that campfire, slept in that bed. Our caretaker hated this chore, grumbling about the life of crime he imagined each child would no doubt lead. I secretly cherished each name and every story.

The desire to be noticed and known, to be remembered, to leave some kind of mark on this world is something we all share. It's one of the things we celebrate tomorrow on All Saints' Sunday. Memories, hymns, prayers, the small flame of a candle, a taste of bread and sip of wine - these things connect us to those who have gone before us, those who stand beside us, and those yet to come. A great cloud of witnesses, experiencing and sharing God's love and grace.

Though our names are not carved into the pews (I hope), we remember and honor one another's stories and give thanks to God for loving us from birth to death and beyond.

Who are you remembering this year?