One day last week, my cousin June and I picked up pecans under trees planted by our late great uncle. The trees have been around longer than we can remember. The mild fall temperature made for a perfect day to work under the massive limbs. And, being with my cousin always makes any load lighter.
When the sun faded, we moved from under the trees to inside my house. With me in the recliner and my cousin on the couch, we talked about our daddies. They were brothers. They both have passed on.
We spoke of their humor, their wisdom, their faith and their steadfastness in good times and bad. With eyes misted through laughter, we wished aloud to be more like them.
One day this week, my co-worker Pam told me about her newly widowed daddy. He visits Pam and her husband on the weekends. When he retires for the evening, Pam says she can hear him praying through the closed door. He talks to God as though he were a friend on the phone and then sings before falling asleep. On Sunday mornings, he sits at the piano playing hymns until church time.
My eyes misted once more over hearing such.
What a great heritage. One generation trying to pass the good stuff to the next; my great uncle, my daddy, June's daddy, and Pam's daddy. How I wish to be counted so faithful.
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| One generation shall praise Your works to another . . .They shall utter the memory of Your great goodness, And shall sing of Your righteousness. Psalm 145:4,7 |
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