On Memorial Day—the day designated to remember those fallen heroes of our country who died protecting our freedoms—is a milestone each year. Yesterday at my church we had a very moving time of remembering these men and women.
Our church is right across the street from the south side of Crown Hill Cemetery in Wheat Ridge. My mother, along with several other relatives, is buried there. Just north of a large section of military graves marked with the distinctive white grave markers: memorial stones giving the name and rank of the military person buried there.
I’m not one to visit my mother’s grave very often, because she’s not there: she’s with her beloved Savior. But every Mother’s Day I do go and leave a bouquet of flowers, honoring the memory of a wonderful, godly mother. A milestone—a time to remember.
In our families, we celebrate milestones, as Paula pointed out. Births and each succeeding birthday. Salvations and baptisms. Graduations. Weddings. Promotions at work. New jobs. Or, in my case, rejections (or redirections) of my writing projects, whether they are devotionals or articles or books. And most recently, an acceptance of my first fiction. We celebrated with cheesecake (from my son), a bouquet of flowers from Paula and ACFW Colorado at our annual retreat, and dinner out with my family.
With this first fiction sale, the most special milestone for me was when my daughter posted on Facebook how proud she was of her mother for getting her first fiction contract . . . and the revelation that she’d secretly read and liked my very first attempt at writing a novel—a historical fiction for middle grade students—which she must have discovered buried in a file drawer! I don’t know if it will ever see the light of day again. More than likely it will stay in the drawer as a stone of remembrance. 🙂
One of my uncles passed away this month. We had a “memorial” service, remembering the things about Jim that made him the man of God he was. Particularly he loved to sing. Last evening at church, my pastor and another man sang a duet, an old song titled, “I’ve Discovered the Way of Gladness.” About halfway through, I leaned over to my son and said, “Uncle Jim loved to sing this song.” He nodded and said he’d been thinking it was an Uncle Jim type of song. A small, simple stone of remembrance.
And today . . . we’re going to spend some time at our family cabin near Eldora (Nederland). My great-grandfather built that cabin about 80 years ago. Over the years, we’ve spent many days and nights at our Hessie Hideway. Here’s a picture of my siblings and me on the porch of our cabin . . . (ahem) many, many moons ago. I’m the one in the middle. It’s there I meet the Lord either alone or with family and friends. It’s there I learned to love the mountains. There are many stones, literally, of remembrance at our cabin and the surrounding Indian Peaks Wilderness Area. And today we’ll add another.
Marjorie Vawter has lived in Colorado only fifteen years, but she has a lifetime of Colorado memories stored up. She currently lives and writes in Westminster with her husband, Roger, and her 18-month-old Siamese mix, Sinatra.