A big hug

Memory is a fickle companion. The old fellow comes and goes along this road we walk, appearing, ducking from sight, chuckling, mostly talking too much when present, irritating at times and bringing joy with him the next. His mere presence reminds of either times best forgotten or of a moment to which we cling because there is a “feel good” quality igniting our best “chest puffing.” I wish I could put him in a locked room when he launches into those long orations, niggling away in my ear when I would rather him just shut-up. Then, when I think I have rid my mind of his pestering, I find myself reaching for him, dredging from the deep well where he resides with his fellow ogres, calling him to join me because I have a need for him. I wonder about this relationship, common, blowing like the wind, present and absent in this school subject called life.

No matter the complexity, he always seems to teach. Something of the old adage about looking back makes us wiser moving forward. Of such, one memory comes to mind.

In the years when I had no choice in the matter, and Mom and Dad packed us in the car to ride what seemed an eternity up Interstate 26 in our Chevy station wagon to Greenville, a permanence falls on me over a trip that elicited a few “are-we-there-yets.” This, while my sister and I strained for air pockets free of second-hand smoke. My memory friend looks ugly sometimes. The guy just keeps showing up. Why?

Well, there must be something there to find, to pull good from bad. God can do this. I struggle with it.

Reflecting, wondering why my friend showed up again, the light came on. Or maybe God allowed His truth to come to the light. But the good showed up, and I learned a little about my companion.

What I remember about those trips, drudgery though they seemed, was the end. When we arrived, distinct in mind is the image of my grandmother and my two never married aunts waiting at the top of the steps to greet us with open arms. The hugs were given with love and joy because we had made it to their home. Imagine three loving hugs, except one was a bit too squeezing, bordering on bruising but survivable. Then, there was that phrase, “You’re so peet (sweet)!” They were genuinely glad to see us arrive.

Something like this happens on this trip we call life. We make our way, up or down the road, curving, going over hills, on a trip imparting the idea the road is long, a sense of “are we there yet?” Suggesting we may never get there, the journey ends. The journey always ends.

At this end, if we have so given this life to God, to seeking Him with heart, soul, and strength, there He is waiting for our arrival with open arms, ready to give us a hug—a big hug!

Oh, and one more thing, I have grandchildren now—and steps.