I realized recently that in all the thinking and writing I have done since the death of my dad and Grandpa, none of my memories have revolved around big events. I did not write that we went to Disneyland, or that Mom and Dad spent a month in Kenya where Dad taught at a Bible college, or that my Grandpa was on "Good Morning America" one time (even though they all happened). Those are not the events of which my most precious memories are made. I have much stronger and better memories of very ordinary things.
With Dad, I remember:
helping him put down linoleum flooring in Alabama;
listening to him play piano;
driving to Mt. Hood to go tubing;
sitting by a wood stove playing Stratego;
building our house;
entertaining international students in our home.
With Grandpa, I remember:
sitting in his living room in Alabama and just talking with him;
golfing on the day before my wedding;
meeting him and Grandma in Midland for supper a year before he died;
driving his RV on the way back from a reunion.;
shucking corn with all my cousins at his house on “corn shuckin’” day…
All these little things pile up. And all of these things played a vital role in my formation as a Christian, not just as a person. Dad and Grandpa were followers of Christ; I was absorbing something about what that meant as I interacted with them in even the most seemingly insignificant of things.
It was like that with my mom, my principal, my coach, my friends, my wife…. They have all molded me in all the moments of life…every word spoken…every kindness shown…
There are no little people in little places doing little things in the Kingdom of God. There are only image bearers of God doing things that ripple through eternity.