It was a beautiful Sunday morning in Georgia, and I hear Miss Anna yelling down the hallway, “Ga-Ga!” “Ga-Ga!” “Ga-Ga!” “It’s time to get up!” (Ga-Ga is my children’s name of choice for my dad.) Dad was already up and moving. After all, it is Sunday, and it probably wouldn’t go over well if he slept in…since he is the pastor. For real.
Hearing her call for Ga-Ga to wake up made my mind instantly rewind back to being a little girl anxiously waiting for the “okay” from my Grandmother to go wake up my Granddaddy for the morning grub. I love that memory.
I just love remembering. Don’t you? Sometimes we do things with our children with the sole purpose of “making a memory.” But, I have found that it is the small, unintentional events that really leave a mark. Like Paw-Paw’s cornbread. Paw-Paw is John Henry’s grandfather (Bryan’s dad). And by default, Anna calls him Paw-Paw, too. As a matter of fact, she refers to Bryan as “Daddy Bryan.” Remember, this is our normal. And, we like our normal.
Kris, the kids and I ate lunch with Bryan’s family yesterday. I enjoyed Paw-Paw’s cornbread while Anna enjoyed his super cool chair that with a simple push of a button can send her up to the sky. She was making a memory while I enjoyed reliving one with my cornbread.
It’s my belief that the events in themselves don’t make for a good memory. It’s the love behind it. Paw-Paw loved Anna enough to let her go for joy rides in his chair. And, Bryan’s family loves me enough to still want to share some mighty fine cornbread.
How do you spell memory? L-O-V-E. I know, corny. I’m allowed from time to time – or from blog to blog.
I thank my God upon every remembrance of you. Philippians 1:3