While I don’t include the titles for my daily diary
entries in the actual text, (but rather my diary index) it might be helpful to
know that the title for this particular date is “You’re the Only You Who Will
Ever Be.”
You’re one of a few who will ever have the exact
combination of genes which you possess, (or the only one, if you happen to be
an only child). And if you happen to have one or more siblings, you’re the only
one of the bunch with the exact number of hairs which you have on your head at
this present moment. It almost goes without saying that you’re the only person
on the earth, among perhaps 20 billion who are currently living, or who have
ever lived with the exact configuration of fingerprints on those ten digits at
the end of your wrists. And though you may have never thought about it, you’re
the only one among those same 20 billion who ever experienced the same
combination of experiences which you have experienced during the course of your
lifetime.
You, my friend, are an amazing work of art. You are one
of a kind.
(Yes, you are)!
It has often occurred to me that when you and I pass
off the earth, we will have lost any hope or opportunity to “leave something
behind.” What we do, we have to do now. Tomorrow, that “great ‘gettin’ up
morning” kind of tomorrow, will be one day too late.
I am in the process of leaving something behind, and I
highly recommend this possibility to you.
I look into the unblinking, unyielding eyes of my
great grandparents, and they stare back at me from behind a glass frame, and nothing
about who they were, what they believed, how they lived, who they knew, or what
they experienced is revealed to me. Their voices have been muted.
But as long as we live, and move, and breathe there is
still time to correct the sort of inadequacy of which they, to my own
detriment, have been guilty.
My father set the standard for me. Though he is gone
now, while he still had the momentary wherewithal, he involved himself in
leaving something behind. (And I dare say, he did a superb job of it).
My father was a landscape painter par excellence. I
suppose he painted hundreds of living room wall-sized canvasses in the course
of twenty years, and several of them adorn the walls of my own home.
Time and space would fail me in my effort to boast of
all my father left behind. For he also devoted himself to researching his
family surname, and left behind a genealogical album chuck full of hard-earned
manual research and photographs; an album which he duplicated for numerous
family members. (And which, no doubt, will be treasured, and passed down among
their own separate family lines).
Best of all, I think, my father left behind several
audio tapes on which he narrated numerous stories and experiences from his
childhood and adolescence. As a steward of those stories, I have been careful
to not only transfer the audio tapes to cassette disks, but I’ve also took the
time to transcribe his stories to a written format.
Leaving something behind.
I am doing something very similar to that which my
father did before me. I have accumulated a great deal of family research and
have committed it to print, and to e-storage. And having been blessed with “the
gift of gab,” I have written numerous currently unpublished volumes, including
a multi-volume autobiography, a couple of devotionals, and daily diaries which
I intend to leave in the hands of each of my children; (with the admonition
that they, in turn, pass my materials down to their children). And perhaps the most
poignant in my attempt to somehow live on in the hearts and minds of my
descendants, I have accumulated dozens of cd’s containing recordings of songs
which I have sang in my local church.
I simply refuse to emulate the hundreds of my ancestors
who have gone on before me who left nothing behind. I am not content to omit
what they omitted.
But lest you jump to the wrong conclusion, I
understand that many of my readers lack the natural wherewithal, inclination or
time to do as I have done, and which my father did before me.
But you can do something.
Let me encourage you to sit down with a blank journal
or behind a computer keyboard, and begin to write. It doesn’t have to be
exhaustive or elaborate. Jot down an experience, a story, an insight or realization
now and then. And make arrangements to leave these materials with a trusted
family member; that they may do likewise.
Leaving something behind.
And in so doing, you guarantee yourself the
wherewithal to speak to generations who never knew you, and who, otherwise, would
never had the opportunity of knowing you.
Following is a message
which I have written to my descendants, and which I hope many of them will take
time to read:
“I have so often looked
at those large old family photos; pictures of my great grandfather and great
grandmother. The edges of the celluloid backing is curling now, the tint of
their flesh still maintains its artificial color, their lips are tight and
unsmiling, their eyes are devoid of light, and they stare blankly into space.
I have wondered if they
ever thought of me, or if they took time out of their busy schedule to pray for
me. Few, if any, (though to be fair, there have been a few) have bothered to
leave a message behind; words which served as an entre into their lives, an
understanding of who they were, what they believed, whom they loved, what they
did, with whom they practiced the fine art of impact.
Well, though by the time
you read these pages I may have gone on to my reward, (or lack thereof) dear
grandchildren, I can tell you I have, I do, and I will continue to pray for
you; as long as I continue to breathe in and out. Though at this writing, you
are not yet a twinkle, your existence on this earth is inevitable, and God knew
the plans He had for you before He made the worlds.
So if by chance you one
day have the opportunity to gaze upon a caricature of my own features, as I
have had the opportunity to look into a portrait of my ancestors’ features,
never doubt that I looked forward to your appearance on this earth, cared for
you, prayed for you, and loved you with an everlasting love.
Granddad
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