Not too long ago, I made a small but meaningful journey back in time, back into the past. For Memorial Day weekend, I drove to a small town in Mississippi to see my first cousin, and we attended her small Baptist church for “homecoming” that Sunday. This was a trip into my past, gently falling into part of my childhood, as the congregants looked suspiciously like the old folks I remember when I was a teenager.
Coming off a busy week, nay, a busy year of my life, I zigzagged up and over the rolling hills of north Mississippi. As I did, I felt my soul relax and connect with the rural, un-rushed American life around me. Was it somehow greener up in this neck of the woods? The lushness of it penetrated my being, as did the scent from the spread of glorious country cooking that hovered in the air as I opened the side door of that white steepled church that humid Sunday morning. I couldn’t wait to get to the ham, peas, mac and cheese, and coconut cake.
But first, we had to have church.
It does a soul good to hear a choir sing. As they filed into the choir loft, I realized it had been a while since I’d heard one. My church had a band but not a choir. The entire service was traditional, including the old-time hymns comforting my soul as I sang out loud with tears in my eyes. I could still remember the words! It was, indeed, well with my soul.
A special dedication and prayers were given for the memory of those who had gone before us, especially those who gave their lives for our country. I thanked God along with everyone else and looked forward to the time when I will get to heaven. I have many people to look up to, thank, and ask many questions.
The preacher delivered a few genuinely funny jokes, then surprised us all by launching into a few moments of
bona fide “fire and brimstone” preaching. People were invited to rededicate their lives, move their letter, and get saved. Just as I am, without one plea, but that Thy blood was shed for me, and that Thou bid’st me come to thee, oh Lamb of God, I come! I come.
Greetings and hugs were given by many, hearts were blessed, ladies with walkers stopped to say hello, and men with canes too. This girl felt welcomed in the house of God.
Then later,
when we stood over the bones of our ancestors, I felt grateful from way down deep inside. Honestly, I was mostly filled with love. And I missed them, even the ones I’d never met. I imagined what their life was like way long ago, and I longed for that time. Occasionally, I have thoughts of time travel and how I would go back and see my people and live amongst them and know them. But, alas, those fantasies are only in my head. My life is here with my folks, my children and their children, my spouse, and our friends.
Some say that remembering the dead is for the living, and I believe this to be true. It does give us a unique perspective, a realization of continuity, especially when we look at those who have gone before us, our parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and so on. They’ve laid a foundation, a legacy, hopefully for good, for God. If not, if that was lacking, it is possible to be a trailblazer, the first one, an Abraham.
For those of us with a history, it is good to revisit it now and again. To dig down in our souls and stir that bit of permanence placed in us long ago.
So…Dust off those old pictures, go on a road trip to that old town and clean out momma’s garage. Take some time to look back, if only just for a weekend, or a moment. Then put those gems from your history into your pocket and tuck them into your soul.
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