On Sunday we attended a baptism in the little church that was long part of my family's life. I don't attend anymore...in fact, have not been there since the last baptism three years ago. But the building evokes so many memories for me. My own baptism I don't remember, but many Sundays I spent with my grandmother in that church, singing for all I was worth. My first marriage...which ended painfully...was at that altar. My sister's funeral. My grandmother's too. An endless stream of holiday parties and pageants, Halloween and Christmas, and Easter egg hunts in the church yard behind, which carried into the next generation and became just as important to my own children's growing up years. Until they all grew, moved away, and our lives changed.
On that day, as we got ready to sing hymns, my youngest daughter, now grown, looked at the dedication plate in the front of the hymnal..."given in the loving memory of..." and my grandmother's name. She was surprised to see it; she was a baby when Gram died, she would not have known that the family had left that legacy to the church in her name. I suppose she had never taken notice of the hymnals when she was a little girl in that church, and it had been many years since she'd been there.
But the books are lovely, and well-worn in the 20+ years since they were given, and although my daughter never knew her great-grandmother, she has heard many a story about Gram's love of the church and her beautiful singing voice, so the above is what she whispered softly to me as we started to sing.
Yes. It is.