SEPTEMBER 11TH… TIME PASSES QUICKLY..

2019

ANOTHER SAD ANNIVERSARY OF REMEMBERING….

Programs on television.. re-runs of  videos…towers in smoke and flames..people standing in disbelief, not knowing what to think about what they were seeing or what to do at the moment…

Stand?  Run?  Where should I go? Is it real? What is happening?

Devastation.

It seems like only yesterday. Has it really been 18 years?

cropped-537d4-south2bwindow.jpg

It all comes back to me.

REMEMBER how you feel when a loved one dies?  Emptiness, hurt, sadness…Those feelings didn’t go away in the days to follow.  Feelings of despair remained.

I remember one night shortly after September 11th,  I had gone for a ride in my car.  I was alone and darkness had fallen earlier.  My husband was at work at his business and I wanted some time to be with my feelings of loss.  I couldn’t get rid of them it seemed.

The radio was on in the car.

 A song began by Alan Jackson, country singer.

“WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE WORLD STOPPED TURNING?”

…Did you go to your church?  I did, as did many others .  I don’t really  remember all the lyrics to that song, but I still remember how they spoke to me at the time.

I was driving down a lonely road in the darkness of the night and the song comforted me.

 God bless Alan Jackson for writing and recording it. Through it, he touched everyone who heard it then, and now.

copyright©2018

(“Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning?)

 

Photography By Mary Anne Tuck

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

 

AND THAT HAS MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE…

Ahead  were only dreary, boring days and years of waiting to get “old.”  There was nothing new to do nor places to see or ROADS to travel.

“When you come to a fork in the ROAD,

take it.”

(Yogi Berra had the right idea.)

I love to  reminisce and write about bygone times, remembering the people I’ve known, especially those who have made a difference in the ” me” I’ve become at the age of 83. I once thought 83 was really, really old. It isn’t.

Actually, I once believed that 50 was old. As I recall, 50 was old when my grandmothers were alive.

I was devastated the day I turned thirty. Life was over, I was no longer “twenty-something”. Looking forward, there was nothing left to life.

Ahead  were only dreary, boring days and years of waiting to get “old.”  There was nothing new to do nor places to see or “roads” to travel.

There were no college years for me.

When I am required to check off my level of education on an application, the box to check must be “graduated high-school”.

My Dad always commented, ” Some folks attend college and still don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.”

I feel good about his comment because my high school education helps me to remember to carry my umbrella on a cloudy day.

That reminds me, a week or so ago I purchased a new umbrella. It was very easy to raise, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how to lower it when I got inside a building.

You’ll be happy to know, with a great deal of concentration, I finally figured out how to  return it to its original closed position by pushing the little “down” arrow located right underneath the “up” arrow.

Who says a high school education isn’t worth much?

I grew up in a small northern town in the lower peninsula of Michigan. My family moved to another town, thirty miles away, when I was seventeen. When we are living them, the years seem long.

One could hardly think of me as a world traveler, but I’ve learned much about life from the shores of Michigan’s largest inland lake; Houghton Lake.

Married sixty-two years, my husband and I raised three sons. It’s difficult to imagine someone as young as I, having sons who are now in their fifties and sixties. Facts are not always as they seem.

Life is like a dream.

I heard someone make a statement just the other day about “alternative” facts.(Perhaps I should research some of those when describing my attributes.)

copyright©2018

Photography By Mary Anne Tuck

* *

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one to where it bent in the undergrowth.

And took the other as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day,

Yet knowing how way leads unto way,

I doubted that I would ever be back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood,

And I, I took the road less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

robert frost mailbox

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

We traveled to New Hampshire many years ago and found this old mail box. It resides on the narrow  gravel road in front of one of the summer homes of Robert Frost. It’s a lovely place. This writing of his has always been my favorite. I carry a copy of it with me at all times. I read it over and over.

It speaks to me.

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

DOORWAY TO MY MEMORIES

The view was recalling a MEMORY.
 It was taking me back
to a time in my life
of great happiness and joy.

“Memories exploded as I stood in the doorway”
* * * 
Our congregation was considering the possibility 
of constructing
a new church building.
The one we were in at The Heights in Houghton Lake was old and too small for the growing congregation.
The basement often flooded in the spring of the year.
Sunday School class attendance was increasing.
Although the choir was small, it was increasing in numbers.
The neighboring town of West Branch had recently built a beautiful new church.
A committee in our church, seeking ideas, was formed.
Let’s go to West Branch and check out their new building.
Of course I wanted to be on that committee. 
The new church was in my former home town. Any excuse to re-visit the memories of my youth, was a great idea.
I was thirty-three at the time.
The new United Methodist Church in West Branch
was built on the County Farm property
across the street
 from the house where I’d lived
 until I was seventeen. If you’ve read in my blog post
“Some Folks Called It The Poor Farm..”
you have some idea of my emotional attachment
 to the County Farm.
I have many memories of the wonderful lady 
who was my friend.
As the committee entered the new church building, we were shown the kitchen area and the classrooms.
We visited the sanctuary and the dining area.
As others wandered the hallways
I decided to take a little side trip
 down a different hallway.
At the end of the hall,
 there was an exit door.
Standing quietly, staring out the door,
I realized long forgotten memories were suddenly returning.
I’d stood in that very place
 many times 
over the years of my youth.
It appeared to me, this doorway was exactly where the doorway to Mrs. Kelly’s kitchen had been.  This was a view I’d seen many times before.  (“Was that the aroma of homemade bread?)
 
Still today,
 when I’m in town,
I  drive into the parking area
 and sit for a few minutes.
The location of this West Branch United Methodist Church
 gives memories of pleasant days of 
youth.
 
 
There was and is, 
an oil well pump on the East side of the parking lot. 
The old barn bridge is often visible,
depending on the time of year,
and how many leaves are remaining on the trees.
The barn is gone.
In my memory,
 the chicken coop is there.
The pasture where the sheep were kept,
exists in my memory also.
 
I remember Mr. Kelly
 driving his team past our house
on his way to the hay fields.
Next door,
 at the North end of the parking area,
is the West Branch Township Hall. 
It hasn’t aged.
I have.

****

On the day of our committee’s visit, 
long ago, 
I could feel emotions rising in my throat,
I was glad I was standing at the door alone.
I couldn’t have spoken to anyone right then.
The view was recalling a memory.
 It was taking me back
to a time in my life
of great happiness and joy.
As we were returning to our home town,
I casually mentioned to my fellow travelers
my experience
 at the doorway in the church.
No one seemed overwhelmed by my revelations.
Should they have been?
A few days later,
 traveling to a meeting with my Dad for which I served
as secretary and he as a board member,
I shared my experience of recalling the treasured memory
of the County Farm
Once again, it was difficult for me to speak.
Regaining my composure,
I shared with my Dad my emotional visit
to the United Methodist church
 in West Branch.
He listened attentively.
Then he began to share his thoughts with me. 
“Most people encounter experiences such as you had,
as they grow older and their lives have changed,” he said.
“They remember the joys of youth.
They remember people who were important to them
who have passed away 
or are no longer living nearby.
Buildings have often been removed by deterioration
or replaced by new construction.
You are young
 to be having such memories  overtake you.”
****
Today, when I’m visiting the town of my youth,
I’m still making memories.
 The doorway to my future is open.
Life for me is still experienced
 one day at a time.
Have you stood in a doorway lately?

copyright©2019
 
Photography By Mary Anne Tuck

 

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

 

 
 
 
 
 

SHOW ME AN EAGLE..

ODD YOU SHOULD MENTION IT. I JUST SAW ONE…

Sun is shining; Sky is blue,

Everyone’s busy, free moments few.
Economy’s rising,  dollar holds true.
 

I Saw An EAGLE Today

 
Church pews half empty, more folks at the store.
Few cars on the highway,
Been here before.
 

I Saw An EAGLE Today

 
Some feel lonely this time of  year.
Laughter and family, for them, disappear.
Doesn’t seem right without happiness here.
 

I Saw An EAGLE Today

 
Why does it seem like today passed me by?
Yesterday’s memories cannot tell me why.
 
Tomorrow will bring me another blue sky.
 
 

I Saw An EAGLE Today!

Today, as I left the church service
My eyes were drawn to the sky. 
At that moment an American Bald Eagle flew over me.
Those who know me have often heard me say, 
“Any day I see an eagle, is a perfect day for me.”

The day wore on, blue moments overtook me.
Time and again the picture in my mind
Was that of the soaring American Eagle.

Early evening approached.
It was then that I realized
 I’d had the perfect day
Thanks to that beautiful moment this morning.

“I saw an eagle today.”

 
copyright©2018
Photography By Mary Anne Tuck
 
memoriesaremadefromthis.com
 

WHERE THERE IS SADNESS, JOY

She began to talk to me of times of JOY. She spoke of happy things and times and places. 
Upon leaving, I said,
”See you when you come home”.
“Ok honey”, she said

Always Generous, Gracious and Giving

She was my JOY.   Now she was gone…
I asked her, only hours after Grandma died;
“How does it make you feel?”
“Like an orphan”, was her answer. 
“But Mother”, I responded, “You have us.”
“I know honey”, she said. “But this is different.”
Carrying our second child,
I was filled with the JOY of life and annoyed at having to deal with death. 
I wanted Mother to tell me it wasn’t so bad.
Grandma was old. Eighty years was a long full life.
In a coma, Grandma hadn’t suffered. 
I wanted Mother to move on to lighter talk and future plans.
  I wanted her to ask how I was feeling today,
resuming our daily ritual.
She was always the giver. I was always the taker.
Years passed and now Mother was in her eighties. 
She shared with me the ominous news
that she had found a lump in her breast. 
“Mother” I said, “I am absolutely sure that it will not be malignant.”
When the report came back Mother said,
“Well, you were wrong. It is malignant and the involvement is extensive”.
Now, I who never wanted to deal with anything uncomfortable
was required to face the unimaginable.  
Mother was  going to die. 
Try as I would, I couldn’t get my mind around that fact.
A friend said to me,
“It’s part of life, although it’s not the best part.”
I was angry with my friend
for her crude and thoughtless remark. 
How could she be so matter of fact in the face of my devastation?
She offered.  I refused.

In the days and months to come,
Mother calmly accepted the diagnosis. 
She was always generous, always caring, always gracious and giving.
She was ever accepting. I was ever refusing.
The following January,
a friend and I vacationed for two weeks in Florida.
Upon our return I learned that Mother had suffered a heart attack
a few days earlier.
She didn’t want me to be told
because she wanted me to enjoy my vacation.
I could learn of it when I returned home.
She was protecting. I was accepting.
I visited Mother in the hospital the day after returning home from vacation. As she lay in her bed she was cheerful
and interested in me.  
“Maybe it wasn’t so serious after all”, I said.
  She answered “No, something very serious is going on.” 
She began to talk to me of times of JOY. She spoke of happy things and times and places. 
Upon leaving, I said,
”See you when you come home”.
“Ok honey”, she said
for she was due to come home on Monday.
She would be in the hospital one more day.
The next day, she died.
She always gave me her love. I always accepted it.
 
Mother was gone.
I felt smothered by a blanket of grief.
She was as much a part of my life as my heart and soul.
Now she was gone.
Her belongings were still here; her clothes hung in the closet.
Pictures she had painted hung on the wall.
They were only “things”.
Weeks passed and my seemingly endless river of tears
began to subside.
On a stark February night, I visited my friend
who is a shepherd.
It was lambing time.
She was required to make frequent visits to the barn
to check on the well being of the ewes.
I found her there
and we began to talk.
Surrounded by the rumblings of her flock
and the sweet smell of freshly scattered straw,
the rawness of my grief began to pour out.
 
With gentle encouragement
my friend shared her own journey
through the painful loss of both parents
during the preceeding years. 
With deep compassion she shared her healed grief. 
I knew that with her consoling love,
I too would be healed through this journey of grieving.
My friend offered. I accepted.

Next morning as I prepared my morning coffee,
my glance fell upon a plaque hanging on my kitchen wall.
Reading it as if for the first time,
I understood the message of St. Francis of Assisi.
Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness,JOY
Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled
as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love;
for it is in the giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Dear Lord
Thank you for the loving, giving people you have placed in my life.
Help me to be the consoling,  understanding, loving and giving instrument of your peace
which has so graciously been given to me.
Amen
copyright©2019
 
Printed May 2017 at Sunlight Press
          Photographs By Mary Anne Tuck
          memoriesaremadefromthis.com

CHERISHED POSSESSIONS

Was it a cherished possession
 you have always dreamed of owning 
and handing down to your children?

 

Where Is Your Heart?

 

Did you offer to release something for the Lenten season this year?

  Do you remember what it was? 

 Was it a cherished possession
 you have always dreamed of owning 
and handing down to your children?

 Perhaps it was a particular item you needed 
in order to complete a collection. Now you were giving it away.

Was it an object you’ve desired to own for years?

Could it have been an item

in which you’d lost interest?

In the Gospel of Mark, a man comes running to Jesus,
 kneels down before Him and asks, 

“What must I do to get to heaven? Jesus answers, “You know the commandments, don’t kill, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t lie,

always respect your Father and your Mother.”

The man replies, “Teacher, I’ve never broken a single one of those laws.”

Scripture tells us that Jesus felt genuine love for the man.

He said to him, 

“You only lack one thing, go and sell all that you have

and give the money to the poor,

 and you shall have TREASURE in heaven.”

A difficult thing was required of the man. 

A difficult thing is also required of you and me.

So then what is required?

Would we give up our home 
in order for a poor family to have a place to live?

Would we give up our annual vacation
 in order to give our employer 
the opportunity to give
vacation pay
  to a person who has no employment?

Would we transfer our civil rights 
to someone who has none,

 such as an illegal immigrant?

Jesus told his disciples

“It is easier, easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle 
than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven?

The disciple, in turn, exclaimed,
“Then who can enter and be saved

if a rich man cannot?” 

Who is a rich man? What makes him rich?

Jesus suggests that the things we TREASURE most 
are the things that make us rich. 
Those things are our homes,
 our parents, our brothers and sisters,

 our children and our property.

Are we willing to give up those things 
for the privilege of entering heaven?

Jesus tells us we will be rewarded one hundred times over 
with the same things we willingly gave away.

 We do this for the love of God

 and for the privilege 
of being able to share with others

 the Good News of the Gospel.

In addition to receiving such abundant rewards,

 we will also receive persecutions.

In spite of them, in the world to come
 we shall have eternal life.

The Christian walk has many twists and turns.

What things then, are to be desired?

God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac, as a burnt offering.

 Abraham was willing to obey.

 In Genesis 22 the angel of the Lord told Abraham

 to stop and not hurt the boy.

 “For I know that God is first in your life.

 You have not even withheld your beloved son.”

Is God first in my life? 
Is He first in yours?

Will God wait for us 
as we take these faltering steps 
to become closer to Him?

How many times will God forgive us
 when we don’t quite measure up?

I should have made that phone call.

You should have stopped to visit that person.

Why didn’t I send that card?

Why did you refuse when you were asked to serve
on a committee at church?

You said, “Ask someone else”.

 Someone else was asked

 and someone served God 
in the place that had been offered to you.

Do you sometimes wonder 
if that person will take your place
at the gates of heaven?

Years ago I had a small hobby business, 
photographing objects of nature 
and creating note cards, greeting cards, 
and pictures for framing.

I love to take pictures.

 

 Willing subjects are everywhere.

…. sunsets, rivers, trees and birds.

Old barns tell a story of their own. 

Wonderful TREASURES are all around us

everywhere we look

every day of our lives.

In searching for a name for my business, 
the name  “TREASURES” came to mind. 

From Scripture, 
a line in the Gospel of Matthew seemed appropriate.

 “Where your TREASURE is,

there will your heart be also.”
(Matthew 6:21)

Where is your TREASURE?

Did you know that your heart is there also?

Your heart is the very thing that gives you life.

Is your heart and TREASURE with Jesus?

copyright©2019

Photographs By Mary Anne Whitchurch Tuck

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

THANKSGIVING AS THE YEARS GO BY

This may become one of the most interesting THANKSGIVING and Christmas holiday seasons to date.

THANKSGIVING

1964

(Musings of a Homemaker – Houghton Lake Resorter newspaper)

“Get that thing out of here and don’t you ever bring a snake into the house again!” 

Turning from  the kitchen sink just as my young son proudly showed me the snake he had captured in a jar.

I shouted.

It was the fall of  1964.  I had three young boys under the age of seven and dirty laundry in the laundry room. Now I was being confronted with a snake in a jar.

Reality was here to stay.

 

Our countryside is beautiful today.

The joy of living in this wonderful place never changes for me.

Snow covered fields have not yet arrived.

Even so, the pleasant anticipation of their coming is a given

during this precious season of THANKSGIVING in northern Michigan.

There will be no time for me to fix turkey and pumpkin pie this year.

With my three boys to keep an eye on, laundry to do, and dishes always in the sink,

where would I find the time?

As is often the case,

Mother and Dad will rescue me.

They will calm our appetites with an invitation to a bountiful table at their peaceful home.

The joy of the annual THANKSGIVING family gathering

fills us with good food, a pleasant time and memories of being together.

My greeting card list has not reached the length it will be in the future.

I’m trusting that some of our friends,

who send cards to fill our mailbox,

will understand when they don’t find one from us in theirs.

Each year it warms our hearts to reach out to friends and family.

Little boys in need of attention at unexpected times,

assure the notes will be short.

The printed verse on the card must say it all.

Mother always had her Christmas greeting cards prepared to send

the day after THANKSGIVING.

I’m sure she remembered to prepare them

when pressing family matters used her time too.

I can assure you,

 there were no snakes in jars at the home of my parents

during the growing up years of my sister and me.

The two of us did not consider such creatures pleasurable.

 Mother was ever faithful with her early holiday greeting.

She enjoyed the notoriety of being the first greeting  to be received by family and friends.

A portion of THANKSGIVING day was spent composing her handwritten notes

expressing love and best wishes for the coming year.

Time will tell if Mother’s traditions fall to me as the years go by.

* * *

New Memories

“2017”

This may become one of the most interesting THANKSGIVING and Christmas holiday seasons to date.

Married sixty-two years in 2017, my husband, at the age of eighty-seven,

 passed on to his next life in the month of February.

Two of our little boys are now grown men.

Our middle child died four years ago.

The experiences of all our lives

have taken a very different turn.

The joy of grandchildren and the arrival of two great-granddaughters,

Willow and Eva,

 has filled my heart to overflowing.

At the age of eighty-three, 

it may be a bit too much for me to entertain the entire extended family

here at the farm for THANKSGIVING and Christmas holidays.

Looking at it in a different way,

it will become a memory in the making for some of the younger folks

to host pleasant family occasions.

There is a large electric cooker in the cupboard.

 Recipes for pumpkin pie,

handed down from generations past,

 lie inside the recipe box

which once belonged to my Grandma.

Four packages of pumpkin pie filling wait patiently in the freezer,

  prepared last year by my husband, from real pumpkins.

 Canning and freezing foods for the winter from the garden

was always part of his helpful preparation for winter.

I’ve been thinking about putting up the Christmas tree.
 How could I fail to do that?
 This precious season is all about memories, families and

the welcoming of the Christ Child,

no matter the changes the years will surely bring.

It really is the season for living and loving.

Those things will never change.

copyright©2019

Photographs By Mary Anne Tuck

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

A MOMENT IN TIME

I began to think of the way we are linked together
 through His creation. The markings of the geese are specific,
  always the same for a particular breed.

 

AT THE END OF THE DAY

Looking Back

1995-2019

 
 

While enjoying the END OF THE DAY during a late August evening
 on our porch swing,
 The readily identifiable sounds of approaching geese
 could be heard.

 

The maple trees in our front yard formed a thick canopy over the place where we sat.We could hear the geese, yet couldn’t see them clearly.

 One glimpse through the leaves,
  told us there were five.

 

The farm has twenty acres, eight of which are hay fields. Geese often headed toward the fields at the end of the day, during late summer, to feed and to rest before starting their journey south for the winter.

As the five flew over our yard, 
a fluffy white feather floated quietly to the ground.

 What were the chances that a tiny feather
 could find its way
 through those thick leafy trees,
 coming to rest on the grass before us?

I began to think of the way we are linked together
 through His creation. The markings of the geese are specific,
  always the same for a particular breed.

 

Our family has now lived on this old farm 
for 60 years.
 This was an August evening, the END OF THE DAY,
 when my husband and I decided to rest 
on the porch swing 
to enjoy the quiet of the evening.

 

Just then,
 our Maker placed us together
 with other creatures of His creation.

 He is the One
 who all the oceans placed,
 set the world in space 
and created us.

 On this late summer evening, 
He chose to join His creations together 
for a special moment in time.

A coincidence? Perhaps…

* * * *

 

Winging low across the evening sky,

with necks outstretched,

the five in line responded to imprinted flight

formed countless centuries ago. 

A canopy of leaves formed overhead,

blocking them from view.

Gliding lower, wings now set,

the five flew toward feeding fields at dusk. 

How quickly they had come into our solitude,

then disappeared into the evening shadows. 

Now out of sight, ghostly silhouettes,

markings meticulously ordained when time began.

A snow white feather drifted slowly to the ground. 

Now cradled in the grass, 

The evening dew its bed. 

Binding our lives with theirs, 

All, now ever changed.

The great creative plan of One

who set the world in space,

the oceans placed, species defined,

now paused with us for a moment in time. 

We were one with Him.

It was the END OF THE DAY.

copyright©2019
 
Photographs By Mary Anne Tuck
 

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

I BELIEVE

But the best of all things that my two eyes can see,
Is the sight of “Old Glory” as she waves in the breeze.

I BELIEVE

By Thelma Whitchurch Tuck

8th Grade – 1944

(Celebrating her 88th August 13, 2018)
“Happy Birthday to my sister”

I BELIEVE in the things I can see with my eyes..

The geese and the ducks high up in the skies


The doe with her fawn going deep in the wood

The old mother hen as she cares for her brood

The fisherman quietly holding the line

The icicles hanging from oak tree and pine

My home, as it stands on the top of a hill

Meaning warmth and contentment, giving my heart a thrill.

But the best of all things that my two eyes can see,

Is the sight of “Old Glory” as she waves in the breeze.

I BELIEVE in the things I can hear with my ears…

The toll of a bell, the crowd with its cheers

The song of a bird, the hum of a bee

The low moaning wind as it blows through the trees

The cry of a baby, the notes of a song

The toot of a horn as the cars go along

The croak of a frog, the rain on the roof

Lowing cows in the pasture, a horse on the hoof

These are the sounds that my ears bring to me

In this wonderful country, the land of the free



I BELIEVE in the things I can smell with my nose.

A field filled with violets, a wild summer rose

The aroma of coffee, a pie or a cake

The smell of fish frying, just fresh from the lake

The burning of leaves, ground wet from rain

Freshly turned earth, or the smoke from a train

The smell of the woods with its cedar and pine trees

Newly mown hay, or a soft gentle lake breeze

Fruit blossoms in springtime, a field full of clover

Smoke from a campfire, when the day’s fun is over

To give up the pleasures we get from these things,

Is something we hope our life never will bring.

I BELIEVE in the things I can feel with my hands.

The great rolling ocean, the small grains of sand

The warmth of the fire, the cold of the snow

The snow or the rain as the wintry winds blow

The satin smooth skin of a child at its play

The fur of a puppy, the sun’s warming rays

The feel of the earth as the garden is planted

The vegetables harvested just as we planned it.

These are the things in this life we are living

That teach us receiving is equal to giving.

copyright©2018

Photographs By Mary Anne Tuck

memoriesaremadefromthis.com

THE MILES BETWEEN

How we live out our purpose,
and with whom we travel,
is our choice.

 Our Son

Tim

 

October 31, 1959 – October 11, 2013

 

 

He was employed as an “over the ROAD” truck driver.

In three week stints,

his purpose was to cover thousands of miles delivering freight

to various destinations throughout the country.

He chose to have his wife and their little dog travel with him.

 

The goal was to arrive safely at his destination.

The journey enabled him to experience the miles between.

 

Our journey is the same.

We have our point of origin (birth)

And our destination (death).

How we travel the miles between

defines our purpose in life.

 

How we live out our purpose,

and with whom we travel,

is our choice.

When we choose to travel with Jesus,

the Holy Spirit is our constant companion

Every experience, every encounter, every trial

is bearable,

because He is with us.   

 

We grow in our faith

as the mile markers accumulate.

 

God says to us….

“I am with you always,

even unto the end of time.”

 

My Prayer:  Thank you Lord,

for being one of Tim’s traveling companions

as he lived through his life

on his way back to You.

copyright©2019


Photographs By Mary Anne Tuck

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