Family Worth Remembering

They were held in captivity for 70 years. Until along comes King Cyrus the Great issuing a decree that they could return to their homeland. And about 50,000 Israelites took him up on this. And as they returned, they carried with them a history book called Chronicles. The author, possibly Ezra, was a remarkable, thoughtful man. He realized that most, if not all, Israelites had very little memory of their ancestry or history. So he wrote it down for them, starting with Adam and giving them highlights all the way up to King Cyrus. He believed that it was crucial that they know from whence they came.

I’ve been looking through my own history. Pulled down from a top shelf, I grabbed photo albums this week filled with pictures of my parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles and even a few of my great grandparents along with an assortment of all other kinds of relatives. Memories began flooding in of times spent with them. And I especially enjoyed the pictures of my parents from childhood to newly weds. As I looked through them all, I couldn’t help but feel connected, a part of something bigger than my own little world.

But then I wondered. What do I do with these? I don’t get the sense that this and future generations will want to hold on to them. My kids barely remember my mom and dad, both having died when they were young. They never met the siblings of my parents nor spent any time at all with their cousins. We’re a generation that is spread far and wide. Whereas when I grew up, we were in somewhat close proximity, proved by multiple pictures of extended family picnics and celebrations.

So what do I do with this history? I honestly don’t know. Nowadays, you don’t necessarily need old pictures when so many look for family roots by way of ancentry.com. amongst many others. So do I bury them in a time capsule? Lock them away in a safe, knowing the key or combination will soon long be forgotten? Or do I just leave them, knowing that once I’m with Jesus I won’t care what happens to them?

But I feel a sadness that they might be forgotten. Because I lived this life, a life of family in all its dysfunction. But even in its brokenness, there was deep love and connection. My crazy Uncle Clark who could drop face down to the floor and catch himself at the last second. My Uncle Bob who seldom smiled. The vacations at Norwich cottage with my cousins amidst the pain of annual brutal sun burns. My Aunt Kitty and twin cousins who I adored because they were so handsome. And Uncle Daryl, the flirtiest man I ever met. 

Unlike the Israelites I can’t return to my homeland. No one’s there any more. At least, not in Marion, Ohio. My brother, Steve, is in another city in Ohio and it’s him that I remain connected. And I hold on to him tightly. When I’m with him, the memories unlock and automatically pour out. Memories that I cherish. Memories that, maybe, are just for me. Maybe I let my kids and their kids keep their family history by way of iphones, Macs and Social Media. They say that whatever goes online never disappears. So, really, their family history will live longer than mine. 

I’m just so grateful, as I look at these pictures. Grateful for family close and family far away. And some family long gone. But not forgotten. Family of people who fought hard, celebrated hard and loved hard. And it’s kind of thrilling to know that I am a little of who I am because of them. A family worth remembering.