Ramblings…

It’s nearly one… eyes are tired but mind is alert. Sitting here reading the blog of a lady I’ve followed for a few years now – amazing writer. Lost her mom a few months back. Such a way of expressing some of the things that are hard to put into words sometimes. Grief’s weird that way I guess. You feel things that you can’t explain, because they catch you at odd times. You’re driving down the road a song comes to your mind, or you are walking through the woods and you catch that scent, or you just hear something in the wind and its familiar… And you remember. You remember as if it just happened and the you realize that you can’t share that memory with them any more and that sharp pang hits you and that big old lump in your throat is there and your eyes blur a little. There’s so many memories, so many experiences… Going home and going through Dad’s garage, the shop, photos brought back so many moments. Things he kept that caused me to shake my head – notes and cards from us kids, stuff i would never have imagined he would have still had, was there — in file cabinets, stuck in random folders here and there. I’m sitting here playing with one of his knives. It’s a big buck knife, engraved with his name on it – “Jim” given to him from the church. He used to be over the Annual Sportsmen’s Dinner, where hundreds of guys would come and eat venison and bear and tell hunting stories and hear a special speaker from a noted Christian nature lover or big game hunter… and it was such a big deal. Watching him work on that for months ahead of time – getting meat ready and sausage made, building grills, organizing the kitchen staff… Dad and his team got to be pros. This particular knife says 14 on it. Fourteen years of serving. That’s a long time. But that was Dad. A man of perseverance. Didn’t quit easily. He would always figure out a way. Lots of unfinished projects and stuff left undone… but he always had a vision or ideas of how it would be. And when he told you about them, as outlandish or impractical-seeming as they were, you could see it. Because he was just that good at showing you with his words. Storytellers are rare these days. I wish I could remember some of his. So often they would move you to tears, so maybe it’s better I can’t remember any right now. Found a picture of the wall of Dad’s garage in 1978. Took a picture of that same wall in 2011. Not much changed in those thirty-some years. Now it is after 1am and I think it’s time to wrap it up. It’s been unbearably hot and humid this week, and I’ve had a little more pondering time than usual as I have been spending most of my down time inside rather than out.

I opened Dad’s old Bible and there’s a verse written out in his writing. “And He said unto me, ‘My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly, therefore, will I rather glory in my infirmities that the power of Christ may rest upon me.'” II Cor. 13:9 then he ends with verse 10…“when I am weak, then I am strong.”