Cold Sweet Potatoes

Lately, I find myself visiting what seemed to be forgotten memories, but not so forgotten they cannot be remembered.  Perhaps, what is needed to bring old memories to mind are the things other than the memory.  The other night in a distant town I listened to a freight train crawling through town and remembered those days of my boyhood when the nights were filled with the sounds of box cars being jerked to and fro by a slow moving train,  And, then, this afternoon's sudden shower which soaked me to the core brought back nights when I used to go out in the night to walk in the rain at Young Harris College.   

For some reason these days have been days of remembering things like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in a brown lunch bag on the way to school, or cold sweet potatoes with a hunk of butter that had no intention of melting, and putting on my first basketball jersey for a team.  Of course, not all the days were filled with good memories.  There were difficult days that left me with painful memories.  Standing at the grave of my father when I was seven years old is one that has never been forgotten and even after all these years can touch a deep place in a surprising and unexpected way.  And some of the church battles fought over things mostly forgotten inflicted some scars that made healing and forgiveness hard, but fortunately, not impossible.     

Surely, one of the gracious gifts God has given us is the ability to remember.  And not only is the ability to remember a blessing, but there is also blessing in the way that things stored away in forgotten places are suddenly prompted to come forth to be known again by the conscious present part of us.  I am grateful for the memories, the people and experiences which were a  part of them, and the way God has of using them to warm my spirit and encourage my soul for the part of the journey which is still to be walked.