Maybe I’m feeling nostalgic today or just plain grateful for the chance to share.
The word “picnic” came up from a text from our dear favorite Pastor a few days ago. He wrote about sharing a simple lunch with his dear wife, (who, by the way, is a nurse working on the front lines, fighting COVID-19 in BC). They picnicked on the banks of the mighty Fraser River.
Three memories filled my thoughts. We lived in the beautiful Qu’Appelle Valley in Saskatchewan, Canada. Our little valley town, Lumsden, was home to my parents and me. We owned and operated a bakery and grocery store.
The scene out the big windows was one of green rambling hills. Most inviting?.
Many days I would pack a PB&J sandwich and a milk and escape to the hills.
I would pick crocuses, wild daisies and dandelions to make a bouquet for my Mom. I would carefully follow a momma bird, hoping to see her babies. Little did I know she was leading me in the opposite direction displaying a “wounded” wing! I would lay in the grass and name the shapes formed by the clouds.
That was my normal. I didn’t even know how precious those moments were.
Then there were memories of my Dad accompanying me to the ball park to buy hamburgers from the church booths on the annual Field Day. I’ll never forget the aroma of those burgers or the special time with my dear Father. (In retail, the store was open every day from 8AM to 10PM, with no help for Mom and Dad).
Then there was the times, after we hired clerks to help in the bakery, would Mom pack up supper, and the three of us headed to a farmer’s field surrounded by lilac bushes, to enjoy a quiet meal, alone. Other than Christmas Day, that was my only time alone with my parents.
What I have learned over the past 76 years is the memories we set out to make with our family, are not the ones that stay. It’s the little, insignificant ones that make a lasting impact.
Lesson?
Make every moment count.
We are dealing with a new “normal”. Embrace it. God is in control.
