There was an unplanned piece of travel that opened the door to the proximity of family history.  It was late April in 1984.  We had finished a Sunday speaking appointment in a small town in Texas.  My grandparents lived less than three hours from where we were.  So, we decided to take a few days to visit with them.  They were staying at their warm weather place.  Actually, what they owned was a fairly basic “fishing cabin” at Oak Creek Lake; about thirty miles south of Sweetwater, Texas.  Why the word “Oak” was in the name is a bit of a mystery to me.  There were plenty of Mesquite trees, some Mimosa trees, and a few other species.  Maybe there were some Live Oak trees, but they were not abundant in the area.  Enough about the trees.  We were happy to take our two children and be at the lake and with my grandparents for a while.

Anyone who has connections to such a place as comes to my mind, it truly blessed.  For, from the times before I can remember, my grandparents’ cabin was a special place in my life.  It was remote, fairly primitive, and very different from our city life.  The locale was, and still is, a microcosm of the rugged landscape found in much of West Texas.   They came to call it “Mesquite Retreat”.  Yes, it was an obvious and yet somewhat audacious name.  After all, a retreat was supposed to be a place of comfort and special care.  The most common ideas of comfort were quite foreign to that cabin.  It was one main room that included the kitchen, a single bathroom, an added back room, and surrounding screened porches where we all slept.  There was a lost of togetherness and very little privacy.  Still, as primitive as it was, the place really was an escape from the pressures of ordinary life.  During the summer, my mother would take my sisters and me for a visit to that lake retreat.  We would stay for only a couple of weeks.  It was always among the most memorable days of each year.

Adulthood, marriage, two children (at that time), and work had lessened the times as well as the ability to spend time at the lake with my grandparents.  So, as we made our visit, in 1984, we found renewed attachment to the place and the relaxed spirit it invested within us.  During our visit, we did a few repair jobs, including some new roofing on the front porch.  We also dabbed some tar on places that had been hit during a recent hailstorm.   At some point in our repair work, I looked behind me to see that my eighty-four-year-old grandmother was also on the roof and dabbing tar.  I couldn’t convince her to climb down from the roof.  She was quite a worker, and just a bit stubborn.

On another day, during our visit, we all loaded into my grandparents’ car and took a drive around the countryside.  My grandmother took the role of tour guide as she pointed to places that held some significance.  Being directed to a certain road, she called on me to stop the car near a particular field.  She pointed to an area near a small group of trees.  As we looked in that direction, she offered a piece of personal and family history.  The place to which she pointed, she explained, was the place where my grandfather’s family settled when they first made their way into that part of Texas.  My grandfather was born in 1896, and he was only a baby when they arrived in the area.  Thus, the year would have been about 1897, about 87 years prior to showing the place to me.  She further explained that the family didn’t have much.  They had lived in very basic circumstances.  In their first year or two they used their wagon and a “lean-to” amid the scarce trees as their home.  I couldn’t help but recognize that while my grandmother recounted the story of my grandfather’s family, we were travelling in a modern car with all the modern conveniences a car had to offer.  The rugged and primitive life being described seemed to be very distant.  At some point it struck me that we were talking about the man who was riding in the car next to me.  Having him there brought to realization that the carefully described, primitive life was really not of such a distant past after all. 

It was only a decade later that both of my grandparents were gone.  Frozen in memory, those stories of that life didn’t seem to be so distant after all.

Several years passed and my family was in the hometown of my youth for a visit with my parents.  My wife, children, and I took a walk and found our way to the elementary school I had attended.  The school was not in session and locked tight.  So, I pointed the children to some of the rooms that were in my memory.  As I lifted each of the children to look through the windows, it was obvious they thought they were peering into ancient history.  Yet, to me it seemed like it was only “yesterday”.  It was only a few years after the day of our visit that the aged school was replaced at a new location, and the old building was removed.  All that remains are the memories in the hearts of those of us who shared our time there.  Again, it seems so much a part of who I am, and as if it was only yesterday.

John Lennon wrote, “There are places I’ll remember all my life, though some have changed.”  We all have them.  And so, it is.  The ever-forward progression of life leaves very special times as vitally enjoyed memories.  Without them, we would be wandering without direction and bereft of much of our joy in living.  And though these special times, people, and places may seem to grow distant in the passage of time, they may all remain ever near at they remain in the heart.  It is true, we may not be able to physically return to those places and times.  We may not be able to bring back the loved ones who are now gone.  We can still share the power of them all; and leave a reminder of them with the people we now have with us, to remain long after we are gone.

The bold apostle, Peter, knew the value of keeping the past near.  He wrote, “Yes, I think it is right, as long as I am in this tent, to stir you up by reminding you, knowing that shortly I must put off my tent, just as our Lord Jesus Christ showed me.  Moreover, I will be careful to ensure that you always have a reminder of these things after my decease” (2 Peter 1:13-15).  What we have learned and lived in the past days is not to be discarded or lost.  It is not to be ignored or considered of no value.  What God has done for us and with us is important.  When it is important, it is to be shared.  It is all really not long ago, and definitely not far away.

Russell L. Dyer

August 26, 2024