Do You Remember These?

We have just finished a series of sermons, at our church, all under the general title "Remember": Remember to Forget, Remember to Forgive, Remember to Remember, etc.  As it happened, on the way home from the sermon on remembering to remember, I heard the Statler Brothers doing their country classic, "Do You Remember These?"

The Statlers were mostly recalling the memories of younger days: school days.  I was able to sing along with part of the song and perfectly able to remember most of the memories recalled in the song.  With the sermon being fresh and the song still playing in my mind, I began to do my own version of "remembering these" in my life.  I thought I would share a few of those thoughts in the hopes that they trigger fond memories of your own.  Mind you, I went to a small high school, so my memories may not parallel yours.

Do you remember your first real crush?  I think that I was a lot like Charlie Brown with his "little red haired girl".   I'm pretty sure I didn't have the courage to tell her how I felt.  If I said anything to her at all, it was probably mean.  After all, a boy doesn't want a girl to really believe that he likes her.  My first crush was MFL and, after all these years, I still have a bit of a crush on the girl I knew in 4th grade.

How about your first passionate kiss?  Thank goodness for co-ed Methodist summer camp.  I met Libby at camp for middle school aged kids.  I have no clue what she saw in me, but I knew she was cute and seemed to like being with me.  From the 2nd day, we spent every moment that we could together.  She was a school grade ahead of me and, therefore, much more bold and experienced!  If it was up to me, we would have never gotten past the holding hands stage.  She proved to me that girls probably really were more fun than playing football.  By today's standards, I don't think I would have made first base on a weak infield single, but every time I think of her, my lips still tingle.  That summer, not only did I learn how to identify poisonous snakes and make lanyards, I learned that girl parts were different than boy parts and was ever thankful for the education.  I found out that girls are softer, smell better, and later found out that they also have wonderfully unique minds and thought processes.

How about the first time you showed up to join some athletic team or school activity?  All those other kids looked so much bigger or smarter or better.  At a small high school, of course everyone was able to participate.  If you could walk and breathe at the same time, you were able to wear a baseball uniform or be assigned a band instrument.  My high school didn't teach calculus and only taught two foreign languages, but I knew everyone and where they lived.  I cruise the old neighborhood sometimes even now doing what I like to call "chasing ghosts".  It still brings back great memories.

It wouldn't be fair to the work that my pastor did in reminding me of memories if I didn't mention the first time I knew that God was real and loved me.  I grew up in church, but I can readily mark the time I first knew the love of God.  I went with the Methodist Youth Fellowship of my church to a Billy Graham Crusade in Charlotte.  I went more just to be going than for any other reason.  Once he started preaching, I couldn't get Billy Graham out of my ears, eyes, and mind.  At the end of the sermon, there was an altar call.  Hundreds, maybe thousands, went forward to accept Christ.  We were all standing and I was holding on the the back of the chair in front of me as if my life depended on it and, in reality, it did.  I was determined that I wasn't going to let go of that chair and walk forward, especially in front of all those people and, even more, in front of my friends.  God wouldn't let me not come to Him.  Going forward didn't immediately change me to a better person, but it changed me for life.

Well, that's just a very few of my memories.  I hope that this inspires you to find a quiet place to listen to the music that you used to love, to visit the places that created those memories, and to thank those who helped make the memories and you more of what you are today. 

 

 

Photographs and Memories

If the title of this blog makes you try to remember the lyrics, then you are probably as big of a Jim Croce fan as I am.  I stand in awe of the talent that wrote such songs as "Photographs and Memories" and "Time In a Bottle" and then could write "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown" and "Don't Mess Around With Jim".

That said, what I really want to talk about in this blog is photographs.  Downsizing is obviously going to be a long, drawn-out process, at least the way I do it.  My dad put together about two dozen family photo albums after he retired and had the time.  Some of them contain pictures of his family and must be almost 100 years old.  Some of them are starring yours truly - that's as it should be when you have the luck to be first born!  Lots of pictures of children, grandchildren, and special events; the trailer in Garden City, the trips to Florida, Christmases spent together, all crowd the others.  For now, I am, if not the family archivist, at least the photo album repository and thus part of the reason for trying to downsize.  A note right here:  my great-niece, Michele Anderson (great in many more ways than one!) is becoming the family archivist, so family, don't just throw out those memories, see if Michele wants them first.  I spent most of the last two days just going through photographs and memories.  Some of them are a bit embarrassing: "Boy, did I ever look like a geek (that means "nerd" for you old folks).  There I am with a pocket protector and three pens stuck into it."  Some of them are more fun: "Wow!  Sara really looks hot in that one.  No wonder I wanted to jump her bones all the time. (with apologies to my children whom, I suspect, still believe that they got here by immaculate conception.)  Some photos made me wonder.  Some made me sad.  Some made me very glad.  Some were of family and friends that I haven't seen in a long time and many of those I won't see again until I join them in eternity.

Sara and I have very carefully collected our photos by throwing them into various boxes stored in various places.  There are some in the attic, some in the den closet, and some in the washroom.  I'm thinking that it might be fun to drag those out and go through even more memories while the chance is presenting itself.  Maybe I'll bring in the whole family and we can stroll down memory lane together.  At least, we weren't the type of family who recorded every activity on slides and made all friends and relatives watch them time after time!  I've already cleared out my dad's slide collection.

I do have a small concern.  I hear that newspapers are going out of style and that high school and college annuals are becoming a thing of the past.  I wonder... in fifty years, where will we be able to find that photo of three generations holding and smiling at the just-born fourth generation?  Where will we be able to reread a yellowed and curling copy of a wedding announcement or an Eagle Scout ceremony or the obituary of a long gone friend?  When old, sometimes very old, high school friends get together, will they pass around some electronic device to share graduation pictures and memories?  I just don't know.  I don't stand in the way of progress and modern miracles, I just believe that some things can't be easily replaced.  One of them is photographs and memories.

Bubbles

Have you ever watched a child, playing with a bottle of soap liquid and a wand, making bubbles in the wind? It is a sight sure to make even a curmudgeon smile. Even the most serious of us will try to puff one of the bubbles a bit further along on its short-lived journey or will try to get one to land, un-burst, on the palm of a hand. It just seems that most times, bubbles are fun; the sound of bubbles in a fish tank, the nose-tingly feeling of bubbles from a glass of celebratory champagne, the bubbles (and satisfying burp) from a cold Coke on a hot day. You can see where I'm going with this. Bubbles are, for the most part, happy things and that's why I'm calling this blog by that name.

A couple of weeks ago, I closed out a blog I began in 2009 because I found that I was using it to vent anger and frustration more than anything else. I promise not to do that in this blog. I'm getting a bit old to keep stepping up and down on that soap box anyway. I thought that I was done with blogging for good, but several things have happened lately that have put me into a much better and sharable (is that really a word?) mind set.

My very good friend, Paul Kennedy, is helping Sara and I over a little bit of a bump in our lives. He is doing this by offering his time, professional training, personal experience, and love for us both. He is serving as a mentor as Sara and I try to reach a higher plateau in conversation, both speaking and hearing each other's feelings. This can't be easy for Paul. For one thing, we are probably boring and for another, he is willing to risk his friendship to help us preserve our own. The ability to talk and listen to Sara, in love and not anger, lifts me like a very big bubble.

Another good friend and person of importance in my life, my associate pastor, Anne Elmore, delivered the sermon at church last Sunday morning. As she began, I thought she was preaching FOR me. I found myself sitting, relaxed and complacent, shouting (well, silently shouting) a few "amen"s and a few "you tell 'em sister"s. It sounded like we agreed that all bigots, all dog haters, all tailgate drivers, all those who don't use their turn signals, and all those who park where they shouldn't, were going straight to hell. You tell 'em sister! Oops! All at once I realized that she was preaching TO me. She said, "Ross, you old hypocrite, its God's job to judge and yours to love. Take off the black robe, lay down the gavel, roll up your sleeves, and get to work for God." That probably isn't what she really said, but it sure sounded like it to me. Looking at a reflection in a bubble makes it appear to be upside down. What Anne did for me last Sunday was to hold up a giant bubble for me to look at. She told me, this is the way God sees you and you should see yourself, not as an avenger, both unwanted and unneeded, but as a lover of His children.

One more thing that I'll share with you, that created a "whoa, fool, check your attitude" moment for me, was spending a couple hours visiting with an old high school classmate, Judy Carter Briggs. Two types of persons still call me "Rusty", old classmates and those who knew me growing up in my church. Judy calls me Rusty and I love to hear it. Judy has suffered more physical pain and medical problems over the past year than I could only hope to be able to cope with. This lady (and I mean "lady" in every good sense of the word) whom I've known since grade school, blew a bubble in my direction that I am still trying to catch on the palm of my hand. She said to me, "I'm still young (same age as me which makes me feel good) and I'm praying for God to show me how I can be useful." Judy probably didn't see it, but that sure pulled old woe-is-me Ross up short. I think that I'll join her in that prayer, but include both of us.

Bubbles, love, joy, family, friends, and a big, old dog who trusts me. God has blessed me past all understanding.