This is what we do for the joy of the King,
For His peaceable Kingdom,
For a world in despair.
And this is why we bring any hope we can give,
Any bread from the table,
Any touch of His hand.
This is what we do.
This is where we go.
This is why we sing.
This is how we live.
This is who we are.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Some Easter Memories

Here's a video of some of the highlights of Easter at our house.  Haley and Lexi help Lyn bake and decorate the traditional Easter Bunny cake.  The second half of the video is the little egg hunt we had here at the house Easter afternoon.  It was fun to see the girls search for the candy- and cash-filled eggs!

Friday, April 10, 2009

Lyn's Visit With Her Parents

Lyn went to Florida this week to visit her parents who live in Lakeland.  She had a short but good visit.  While there, she managed to snap a few pictures of her mom and dad.  It's hard to believe that I am 15 years older than they were when Lyn and I got married.

Lyn's mom continues to play the organ for
the church they attend.  Here she's getting
ready for the weekend.

They know Lyn is Cracker Barrel deprived (since
we don't have any in California), so
they make sure she has at least one meal there
when she visits.

Considering that he's recently had a series of 
strokes and other health issues, I think
her dad (Francis Reid) looks AMAZING!
This pose is so familiar to me...just like when
he was in his 40s.

This is Billie Reid in her element...
She loves to sew and is an outstanding
seamstress and tailor.  Hopefully they
will have sewing machines in heaven.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Thanks To All The Forgotten Ones

This afternoon while I was driving to the office, a red wagon with a little blonde boy in it was being pulled across Main Street at the Yorktown intersection.  Seeing the kid in the wagon caused a very pleasant flashback to my boyhood.

When I was 4 or 5, I had my own "little red wagon."  It was called the D.R.S. Express--based on the initials of my name, Donald Ray Sewell. I don't really remember much about that wagon.  The most vivid memory about the D.R.S. is associated with the older kids (young adults?) who lived at the end of my street.  I think they baby sat for me from time to time--or at least watched out for me when I played outside.

I say it's a vivid memory, but that's really overstating the case.  It's actually a pretty fuzzy memory, like most people's early childhood memories turn out to be.  I don't really remember these neighbors much at all.  What they looked like.  Their names.  Their number (were there 2 or 3 or 4 of them?).  I can't even remember their gender--although I know one of them was a girl/woman.

I just remember having a wonderful time with them.  I remember feeling secure in their presence.  I remember my own wild laughter and the wind blowing in my face as they pulled and pushed me in their back yard and up and down the street.

It occurred to me today that it's probably a very healthy thing that I don't remember the details of those red-wagon moments and all the other day-to-day experiences of my earliest years. Usually the memories that are seared into young minds are associated with pain and trauma. I don't remember my nursery workers at church.  I don't remember any of the adults I encounterd as a toddler or a pre-schooler.  I don't remember them because they were good, helpful, unassuming, encouraging people who had my protection and well-being as their highest priority.  

In the crazy world we live in, I know there are thousands of children--very young children--who are forced to experience horrors and tragedies that will ever remain with them.  They will bear the scars of those life wounds as long as they live.  They will remember--either consciously or sub-consciously--and the memory will serve as a quiet echo of their early pain.

So when I saw that little boy enjoying his Saturday afternoon ride in his Radio Flyer wagon, I was reminded of how very blessed I have been to have enjoyed the protection and care of good people throughout my life.  I was reminded of how thankful I should be to all those people who were there to pick me up when I stumbled, wipe away my tears, change my diaper, rock me when I cried in the nursery, and give me exciting afternoon rides in my D.R.S. Express.