A time to remember

We finally found the cemetery by the country church, several miles outside Rhome, Texas. We almost walked past the gravestone. It was a simple, thin maker, no more than a couple of feet wide and no higher than my knees.  Bending down, I ran my fingers over the letters, squinting to read the birth date and death date, for the passing of the years had worn them smooth.

Somehow, just standing there, I felt closer to him.

It was the gravesite for my great-great grandad, Robert Franklin Whitlock. I had become fascinated with his life. A little family research revealed that he had fought in several major battles of the Civil War. He was in Pickett’s Charge at the Battle of Gettysburg, as well as the battles of Fredericksburg, and Antietam.

Reflecting on what I knew of his life as I stood there that day, I had a profound sense of gratitude for the very fact that I was able to stand there and give thanks. Nearly one-third of those engaged in the Battle of Gettysburg became causalities. Think of that, one of three persons. At Frederiksberg, the Confederate army lost 5,377 soldiers, the Union army even more. And about 23,000 men died, went missing, or were wounded at Antietam.

Great-Great Grandad was a survivor. After the war, during a period historians refer to as the Reconstruction Era, Robert Franklin moved his family from Tennessee to Texas, maybe to try and forget what he’d seen and to start anew.

He may have started anew, but he couldn’t forget.

He remembered, I’m quite sure, both the happy and the sad.

That day at his gravesite, I remembered too, the happy and the sad that up to that point had helped shape my life.

And reflecting how my very existence had been caught up in his survival, I could give thanks for being able to give thanks.

This Monday is Memorial Day. It should serve as a reminder of how important it is to give thanks for those who have gone before us and think, if even for a moment, about where we are in this journey we call life.

Actually, Memorial Day was started in 1868 for the purpose of decorating the graves of Civil War veterans. Over the years, it has evolved into a time to remember all deceased veterans and our deceased loved ones.

Poet Robert Frost said, “A nation reveals itself not only by the men it produces but also by the men it honors, the men it remembers.”

This weekend is more than just an extended weekend; it’s a time for remembering, and all of us have someone to remember.

And we would like to think that we will be remembered too, don’t we?

After the nation of Israel had miraculously crossed the Jordan River, God instructed Joshua to have the people erect stones in that place. “In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean to you?’ you should tell them…” (Joshua 4:6-7).

It’s important to remember.

Today, we still wonder what those mysterious stones at Stonehenge mean. Somehow, some generation failed to pass it along, and the memory is lost.

This weekend, take some time to remember and pass the memory along.

Maybe you’ll go to the cemetery, and there a gravestone will remind you. Or perhaps when you look in the mirror and once again catch a glimpse of that necklace you’ve become so accustomed to wearing, you’ll pause and reflect on him, for that piece of jewelry carries a part of him in it. Maybe it’s when you stare into that faded picture that her memory comes alive to you. Or perhaps as you gently, even reverently caress that special urn containing what’s left of him, you remember. Or maybe when you open her Bible and press its pages to your face, breathing in deeply, you breath her in, too, because she touched those pages, and a part of her still lingers in them. And you remember.

Wherever it is, and for whomever it is, take some time to remember.

If even for a moment, remember.

And give thanks that it is no mistake that you have been brought there to that moment, to that place, by Someone greater than you, if for nothing else than to give thanks that you are there to give thanks. And remember.