Today is one of those days when memories flow through my mind like a river flowing through the narrows of limestone bluffs. I’ve run many such rivers in my canoe, and they, like my memories, are scenic and soothing.
This morning I awoke with memories of my dad and the times I spent with him. These are memories of baseball, wading creeks, hunting and fishing, and Sugar Loaf Hill, and Sallyards.
These memories are always present, but they are more fertile the first of November for two reasons: Prairie Chickens and Quail! This is because Dad started taking me hunting with him as soon as I could walk.
My dad enjoyed life—even though his was much too short. He taught me to love and respect everything Mother Nature has to offer; to play and enjoy the game of baseball; to hunt and fish; and to see the beauty of the Flint Hills—when your early years are spent in Sallyards, the Hills leave an indelible mark on your soul.
Whenever we lose something, our memories act as an anchor, and we often turn to them for a sense of comfort and normalcy. Such is the case with me this morning.
On Thursday of this week I stood at the bedside of a dying woman. Her life of 91 wonderful years was coming to a close. I quoted Psalm 23 to her, and I said: “Aunt Catherine, I’m happy for you. In a few minutes you’ll be with Jesus. Remember to tell my Dad hello for me. I haven’t seen him for a long time and I still miss him and still love him.”
Catherine Beedles has been the best aunt anyone could ever want. She loved her nieces and nephews like they were her own children. Most importantly though, she loved Jesus, had embraced the hope of the resurrection, and she had claimed Him as her Savior.
Over the last week, I’ve spent quite a bit of time with Aunt Catherine. We’ve reminisced and I’ve expressed my gratitude to her for all she has done for me. Every time I left, I left with a prayer and the words: “Aunt Catherine, I love you.”
As I think of this kind and caring woman, I think of Paul’s greeting to Timothy: “I thank God, whom I serve with a clear conscience as my ancestors did, when I constantly remember you in my prayers night and day. Remembering your tears, I long to see you so that I may be filled with joy, clearly recalling your sincere faith that first lived in your grandmother Lois, then in your mother Eunice, and that I am convinced is in you also (2 Timothy 2:3-5).”
Like my dad before me, I’ll be hunting this November morning with my son. I hope his future Novembers will be as full of memories as mine.