Precious Memories...how they linger

A few evenings past, I found sleep somewhat elusive so I went to my downstairs office where I rummaged through stuff. I came across an old Methodist Hymnal from my teen years when attending Grace Methodist Church, Washington Park (East St. Louis, Illinois). My thoughts took me back to a little basement church on Waverly Avenue a few blocks off Kingshighway; the early 1950's. That small congregation was a mix of elderly folks (mostly widow ladies) and several young couples raising children. It was in that basement church that Christian testimony was shared openly, hell-fire-and-damnation sermons often poured from the pulpit and alter calls were common place at each services' conclusion. The Trinity of God, the Father, son, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit was part of the 'deal.'

As I thumbed through the old hymnal, I could hear the often times 'off-key' but loudly praising voices from the passionate Jesus followers. It was in that up-start church that I gained my love of God and the songs of praise. All my life, I have enjoyed singing, especially the old-time gospel hymns. I have been called an incurable romantic and sentimentalist by many and I offer no denial to the notion nor make no apologies for the accurate description of my personality. I often sing aloud the song, "Precious Memories." The song means much to me.

I do indeed have many 'precious memories' of days gone by. I had a wonderful childhood with a loving-active family. I engaged youthful games and play with some great friends and later held terrific associations with junior high and high school athletic teammates. My dating years with my wife began at the tender age of 14, when we found ways to attend movies and 'sit-together' at the neighborhood theater. We soon expanded our date territory with a driver's license. My precious memories spill into the extended family get-together, family reunions and neighborhood picnics.

I only hope that my children and grandchildren are storing up good and fond memories. I trust that each of my adult-married children's families share their respective laughter and play times. In a blink of a eye roles change as times marches towards its endless journey. I hope that each reader this day will find their own precious memories in those sleepless mid-night hours.