We all have connections and at times a sense of prescience.
This past week, I traveled to Louisville, Kentucky. It had been 7 years since I flew into Bowman Field. Both Mom and Dad would meet me there. Home was not far from the airport. Ten years ago, Dad departed in November which was the month of Mom’s birthday. And 7-years ago Mom passed away in September the month of Dad’s birthday. I miss them both. Letting go is a long-term project.
By providence, I was blessed with two wonderful parents. They loved each other very much. They worked hard. They enjoyed good times with many friends. And helped each other through the hard times. They danced really well together. Through it all they stayed together. They had high standards with fair expectations. They expected a lot of my brother and me. Both were great mentors to us in our careers, but were always Mom and Dad. They loved us.
Wednesday morning, I visited Louisville’s Cave Hill Cemetery where Mom and Dad are buried. It’s on the National Register of Historic Places. Established in 1848, Cave Hill Cemetery is Louisville’s largest and a botanical garden by design.
It was before 8:00am when I arrived and the gates had opened early. I entered through the main entrance at Cherokee Road, instead of the Grinstead Drive with which I had some familiarity. In the early dawn light and after a number of turns I realized I was lost. The roads bend and criss cross like a maze. It was an unexpected moment which added to my feeling of being alone. Circumstances had led me on this trip by myself without family. Indeed, a quiet time for reflection.
I could see the ground crews were gathering to begin their day’s work. But I wasn’t going to ask them for directions. So, I pulled out my phone and asked Siri. Weird, she knew where I was. And she had directions to the Grinstead Drive entrance. As my Mom would say, “there were more turns than you could shake a stick at.” From Grindstead Drive I recognized enough landmarks to make it to their graveside.
Occasionally, there are full hard stops. It was a quiet September morning with a fall chill in the Kentucky air that paused any interruption. I reflected on the “space” between the engraved dates and knew it was a blessing to have Mom and Dad with me through much of my life. For me, this morning was prescient. We all know night cometh.
From Cave Hill Cemetery, I turned onto Bardstown Road and traveled south back to Bowman Field. It was a short 10-minute drive. My plane was ready. I accepted the Air Devil departure and climbed westward back to Houston, Texas with thankfulness to have this time to pilot a modern chariot through God’s beautiful skies.
Can our past connections help us with the connections we have today? To value our family, friends and neighbors? To support them and mend brokenness in ways we have not yet discovered? “There are only so many years, days, hours and minutes we have to invest in the lives of others . . . So many of the things we expend our energy and time on disappear and will not last, but people will; therefore, considering our use of time in relationships proves important.”
In life, relationships should be our best and most celebrated connections. But sometimes it doesn’t work out that way. Broken relationships are a heartache and hardship. My hope rests in the best reconciler of relationships, Jesus Christ. He’s the greatest connection of all that we can have. By grace, the hope is certainly in me and does not disappoint or fail and will carry me past that – Last Day.
References: (Rev Jason Helopolulos, “Time and Relationships,” Table Talk Magazine, September 2020, p. 10 – 13., John 9:4; 1 COR 15:50-58; 1 Thess. 4:13-18; Ro 5:1-11). Have the consequences of 19th century liberal theology been underestimated and delivered us into a post Christian nation?
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