I Really Lived

I Really Lived

By Marjorie Hinckley

I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully tailored clothes, my hair perfectly coiffed, and with long perfectly manicured fingernails. I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp.

I want to be there with grass stains on my shoes from mowing Sister Schenk's lawn. I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbors children. I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someones garden.

I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder. I want the lord to know I was really here and that I really lived.