As my eyes move on from photo to photo I see another picture
of my dad, the years have whetted down the muscles and chiseled lines and
wrinkles in his face but he stands straight and tall even while using his
walking stick as a prop as he visits the grave of his great grandfather in
Knoxville, Tennessee. And there is a
picture of Granny (my mom) sitting in the swing on our front porch on a bright
sunny day.
All wonderful pictures, priceless pictures to me, each
containing wonderful memories of days gone by.
I smile as I think of the days those pictures were taken. I remember the voices and the touches from those
that I love. I wonder, can those who have gone on before me remember me?”
Does God allow them to retain the memories of those great
time here? Can they see our faces? Can
they hear what we say and see what we are doing? Does the almighty Father, who by the way, can
do anything He wants, allow them to sense the enjoyment of those times here on
earth?
I catch myself praying for them sometime. I prayed for them for so long. I watched as both Dad and Mom’s health diminished
and their ability to care for themselves dwindled away and I called out to God
to help them. Sometimes as I pray I ask
God, just bless them special today. Oh,
I know they are not in pain. I know they
are not sad. I don’t know what people do
in Paradise but I’m positive they don’t sit around and mope and think about how
sad it is to be away from their family and loved ones. But I just ask God to give them a special
blessing. I kind of think He does
that.
The pictures bring all those thoughts to mind I guess.
I am less than four months from retiring from my job with
the Emergency Management Agency of Chilton County. I’ve been here, doing this job for 30
years. As I was cleaning out drawers and
shelves I realized that I had a very large box of newspaper clippings and
snapshots of things that I’ve been involved with over the years. Photos of wrecks I’ve worked and fires I’ve
fought. Interviews I’ve given and
stories about the projects we’ve
undertaken. Pictures, memories,
reminders.
But as I sit here this morning pondering these things I
notice another picture on the shelf. Actually I have several copies of the same
photo. I don’t know who painted it. I can’t give credit to the artist. But I’ll
try to describe it to you.
There is a young man, faded jeans, dirty t-shirt, his eyes
are shut and in his hand is a hammer. In
the background is nothing but darkness.
He looks exhausted and is slumping and not able to hold himself up. His
hands hang limp by his side. Behind him is the artist’s depiction of Jesus. Jesus is reaching around the young man
supporting him, and holding him up to keep him from falling. His nail pierced
hands look strong as He supports and holds up the man who nailed him to the cross.
I will no doubt forget all the other pictures one day. I won’t remember the stories about projects,
and rescues and events. I may even forget
my relatives, living and dead. I may not
be able to call your name or recognize your face. But may I never forget those hands. May I never forget those loving, strong hands
that were there to catch me when I was weak, and unable to stand. May my mind forever retain the memory of the
time when I was guilty, the evidence that would convict me still in my hands
and the one that I had hurt so deeply reaching down and holding me.
There is a lot I don’t know about this stuff called life,
death and eternity. But I am confident
that here, there, now, then or in that place where time does not exist, even
though I’ve never seen them with my eyes, I will remember those hands and what they have
done for me.
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