Day's Past And The Memories That Follow
He died when I was two....
Somewhere in my mind, I have a recollection of him. I confess that I'm not sure if it is a real one, or one I constructed from the stories that my mother told me. My grandfather had a pocket watch, as did most men of his day, and he would place it on his knee so I could put my ear to it and listen to the ticktock of the workings. I have that watch today, and at some point I will pass it on to my grandson.
There are a lot of unfilled spaces in my family history that I wished I knew more about. Things such as "when was my grandfather called into the ministry"....."Where was the first church he was pastor of." I know that he was at Cherry Street Baptist for a while, and eventually at Liberty Baptist located in Painter community up on Sand Mountain.
In fact, Liberty Cemetery is where he and my grandmother, Alice Perry, are buried. The first Sunday in May is decoration day there and my mother and I made the trek every year. Going up on Saturday to clean the graves and put fresh flowers out, then returning on Sunday to attend church @ Liberty, with a family gathering for dinner afterwards.
It was a time for the (dare I say it now at my age) "old folks" to catch up on what has transpired since last decoration day. We kids would rip and run, but were ever mindful not to step on any graves. Usually such activity on our part was followed by the unrealistic cries from our mothers to "Don't Get Your Sunday Clothes Dirty!!!" Hard stuff for a kid to handle. I'd like to say we were always successful at keeping this front and center in our developing minds............but not so much. It was inevitable that grass stains and Sunday britches were going to meet at some point. Not to mention the occasional torn shirt or missing button that was ripped off during a rousing round of tag.
I look on those times realizing that I did not appreciate them while they were happening. Today, I wish I could go back and drink it all in one last time. The feel of the wind in graveyard as we stood as a family around grandfather and grandmothers grave (It was always windy at that graveyard) Whispered sounds as my mother and her sisters shared memories that only they knew and understood. Sometimes I do believe that youth is wasted on the young. Maybe not wasted, how about not appreciated as much as it should be.
I do look forward to the time when the family is reunited. To find out the truth of what we only hoped and claimed to believe. To truly see the face of my Savior. To hear His voice........to see the faces of those who have gone before me. I guess the current whirlwind state of our culture and society does cause me to look back to my memories, as they become an anchor for me to hold on to. I don't wish to live in the past, but I do look back fondly at the people and the wisdom given that helped me to be the person I am today.
I pray that my grandchildren will do likewise with their memories.
And I pray that somewhere along the way there is a bit of wisdom that I gave them that will aid them in their own journey.
Thanks for letting me share.
Michael B. Bynum
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