“That apostrophe is in the wrong place!”

I was unhappy.  It’s not a mistake I’d usually make.  I’m a stickler for correct grammar and punctuation.  Oh, that doesn’t mean I don’t make errors; it simply means they usually have been corrected by the time I deem something fit for public consumption and click the button to post it.  After I’ve read it over five or ten times.

But there it was, as clear as you please.

I was reposting an old note I had written a couple of years ago on my social media account.  At a time when I was tired, hot, and covered in dust, I had seen the beauty of the sun shining through the trees, making the humid, dusty atmosphere glow with the bright rays of heavenly light.

“As I mowed my neighbors’ yard yesterday, I looked up from the hot and dusty task before me to see this.”  Those were the words with which I started my post.

Except there is just one person who lives there.  The fact that I placed the apostrophe after the s that made the word neighbor plural meant more than one person was living there.  I should have placed the apostrophe between the r and the s to make it a singular possessive word.  

You see, my neighbor is a widow—her husband having passed away nearly two years ag. . .

Oh.

When I wrote it, two people were living in the house next door.  One of them, my friend Skip, would leave this world for the next a mere two months after it was written.

I did!  I did put the apostrophe in the right place!

I feel as if I should be happier. Being right should be more joyful than this.

And yet, I’ve been looking at that apostrophe for the last hour or two.  It was in the right place when I wrote the post, but it’s not now.

I’m not sad about how a sentence was written two years ago.  I’m sad that all it takes to correct the loss of my friend is to move an apostrophe, the tiniest of punctuation marks, one space over.

One space—his loving wife’s loneliness and loss, shown in that tiny action.  All the sadness of his children and old friends summed up in a movement of less than a quarter of an inch.

Perhaps though, my sadness is even more deeply rooted than this one exercise in grammatical nerdiness.

I stood with dear friends in church today and, speaking with them, realized anew that I will not do that with one or both of them many more times in this world.  Health fails; the body refuses to continue on in its earthly mission.

Life on this spinning ball of water and rock is precarious.  It’s short.  And, unpredictable.

Today is a good day to hold close those our Creator has given us.  It’s the perfect day to say, “I love you,” to everyone to whom the words apply.

Do (and say) the important things now, while the apostrophes and commas are still holding firm.

Tomorrow, the commas may all turn to periods—the apostrophes may slip over a space.  The Author of our story writes and edits as He sees fit.

Of course, if the punctuation holds fast and isn’t moved until years in the future, we’ll simply have made the world a better place to be for all those extra days.  And, our longer stories will be more lovely to read because of it.

And that seems to be acceptable.  To me, anyway.

I hope you agree.  If you don’t, send me a note. 

Just try to get the punctuation right, will you?

 

“The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. May the name of the Lord be blessed!”
(Job 1:21, NET)