Perspectives
on the Landscape of Life
By
DJ Note
Thankful
For The Memories…
Talking
over the counter with customers, I sometimes get to hear childhood memories
retold. It’s a privilege I treasure. When this happened recently my thoughts
turned to you, my reader.
When
was the last time you took occasion to court a childhood memory? I mean really
relive the joy and coziness of the fabric that made it special to you in the
first place?
That
led me to recall a Phil Keaggy concert I attended at Trail Christian Fellowship
not long ago. This one was first-rate, and not just because Keaggy is
world-renown, although he is exactly that. But on a personal level, for the
first time in well over thirty years, my brother and I took advantage of an
opportunity to attend this concert together.
The
atmosphere was crisp with chatter and anxious expectation as this world-class
guitarist casually stepped out onto the stage. Ear shattering applause and wild
enthusiastic whistling exploded from the near-capacity audience. A solitary
spotlight centered itself on the nine-fingered musical giant who began his
amazing repertoire with a long-time Beatle favorite, “We Can Work It Out.” The
crowd erupted into another round of applause then finally quieted for a big
Keaggy dose of audio candy.
Hold
that scene. Now rewind with me some forty years earlier to a large two-story
three-bedroom home that housed a family of eight. It’s a snowy winter day, late
in the evening.
My
younger brother sits alone near the flickering flames of the large fireplace in
our childhood home. He quietly strums his guitar as he hums a favorite melody.
It’s a familiar scene as I join him in the cozy Early American-style family
room we love so much and provides us with sweet sanctuary.
I
talk about the date I’ve just come in from, and my brother shares the events of
his school day and the night of smudging in the orchards he’s likely to be
called out to. Finally, as is our habit, a pause in our conversation slips into
a tranquil hum, which in turn tumbles into a favorite Beatle lyric, “Try to see it my way…”
The snowy world outside drifts
away at the blending of our whispered voices. Our hearts agree in the joy of it
all as we revel in the melodic harmony of familiar lyrics—“life is very
short, and there's no
ti-i-i-i-ime…”
We know these days together
are limited. Life won’t always stay this
sweet.
Now forty years, and a
lifetime later, sitting side by side during a reflective concert moment, we
felt as though we were teenagers again, transported back in time by the
familiar melody of an old pop song being performed before us in another place
of sanctuary.
Our middle-aged heads touched
as we leaned toward one another. Our voices sang out in whispered refrain just
as before …we can work it out…. Like two old horses that remembered how
to pull together, we winked at our recollection and smiled.
Some memories just beg to be
revisited. And we need to oblige their calling. You see, it’s not always the
monumental events that take their place in our scrapbooks and picture albums
that hug our hearts in those quiet moments of deep reflection. Often it’s the
seemingly small and perhaps insignificant ones that fleet through our minds when
the years have passed. Those are the ones that prompt a grin and bring blossom
to an aging heart.
Remember the soft embrace of
that Grandma you loved with all your heart, …the hot summer afternoons you
skipped rocks with the uncle you looked up to, …the fish your dad taught you to
clean, …the fresh-baked cookies you helped your mom pull from the oven? These
are the times our hearts cling to because they fill a need when we’re lonely,
…spark a love touch when we need encouragement, …nudge us into tomorrow when
we’re down. We tarry over these memories because they’re the stuff life is made
of.
My brother reached over and
held my hand during our private duet as Mr. Keaggy continued his serenade. It
was a Kodak moment for the heart—a terrific evening surrounded by friends,
church family, and marvelous music in the company of my not-so-little-anymore
brother.
Now when I recall two teens
sitting side by side next to a cozy fire in the dead of winter I’ll remember
also, a middle-aged brother and sister holding hands and touching hearts while
the melody of familiar tunes blended their voices once again, and thank God for
the gift of memory.
Then I’ll pause and the Lord
willing, dream with hopeful expectation of those memorable moments waiting just
around the corner. I pray you will too.
Deborah J. Note writes from
Eagle Point, Oregon.