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Recently while driving past a cemetery, I noticed some flowers peeping up through the snow. From somewhere in the past this phrase passed through my mind; ‘flowers from memory’s bouquet.’ Memories have a way of lingering long after the ones involved in that memory have passed on. It seems that memory tints the past with a rosy glow, things that seemed rather awful i when they happened are less bad in retrospect. Time heals wounds.
Memory is a wonderful gift of God. Pity the very young, they have so little to remember. We of advanced years can relive so: many delightful moments, our first love, that first kiss so | awkward and clumsy at the time, yet so thrillingly tender in memory.
Wait, memory brings sadness, There are many graves covered with snow, many of those who live in our memories are with us no more. That first love of mine has slept beneath the sod for many years now, that is the physical part. I like to think that out there in God’s great eternity her blithe spirit lives on.
Let us so live that when we are only memories, those who remember us at all, will remember us with kindness.
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