My mom blessed me with a box of old pictures. Some date all the way back to 1968 . . . the beginning.
In the span of 15 inches (of stacked pictures) I age 40+ years. My life literally flashes before my eyes (especially if I fan them quickly, like one of those old-time flipbooks in which the little character drawn on the bottom of each page looks like he’s walking or eating).
But it’s not the pictures of me that I am enamored with; it’s those of my family, some of whom have since passed on. I see a picture of my grandmother holding me as a baby and wish I could ask her what she was thinking.
I see a picture of my three-year-old self kissing my little sister and want to reach through the 243-mile gap and plant one on her in the here and now. I see a picture of my nineteen year old son as a toddler and can hear the sounds he was making when I snapped the picture.
I laugh. I cry. I long.
I long for a simpler time. I long to stop the clock so my children won’t grow up. I also long to create an environment in which they look back and smile.
It’s the time of year when the value of family prevails. “Family” (children, parents, grandparents, in-laws, adopted families, church families, etc.) is found at the top of most Thanksgiving lists.
This leads me to ask: How do I preserve these precious moments, these delicate relationships? How do I capture and retain something that is ever-changing and contains so many dynamics? How do I hold on and let go? How do I protect those who follow behind me?
I realize I cannot pause time and hold fast to my dear babies; however, I can (and will) influence the next generation and, probably, the one after that. The memories will impact their lives. So I want to be purposeful in my teachings and behaviors. I desire to model Godly wisdom . . . and Godly love. If I keep my eyes on the Creator, they will too.