“No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God.” ~Abraham Lincoln

Yesterday I began cooking for our Thanksgiving meal which we will enjoy later today.  As I busily messed up my kitchen, I ran across my Granny's handwritten recipe for Candied Sweet Potatoes, splattered with evidence of past use.  I don't use this recipe much anymore - making enough to feed our crew requires doubling the recipe, which would mean adding six cups of sugar.  We prefer to reserve that amount of sugar intake for dessert!  But as a kid, this was by far my favorite part of any holiday meal at Granny's house.

As I read through Granny's neat script yesterday, I smiled at her last sentence - "Pour into bowl and eat like crazy - Ha!"  I can still hear Granny's voice and distinctive chuckle as I read that, and I miss her.

Thanksgiving is a trigger for many such memories.  As a kid, we would always go to Granny's house where she had so much food that it wouldn't all fit on the table.  She would have various overflow dishes scattered around on end tables, the top of the TV, and even on the floor.  She insisted on having everyone's favorites, which were different for everyone. And that was just the meal - she also prepared as many different desserts as there were people, because again - she wanted everyone to have their favorite.  For many years, I was the youngest grandchild in attendance, so I was relegated to sitting on a stool that was too tall for the table, on the end so that my left-handed self did not impede anyone else's meal-eating efficiency.

Eventually, my aunt and uncle helped me out with this by adding my younger cousin to the mix, and I still remember the day he was finally old enough to take over the position on the dreaded stool, and I graduated to a normal chair - what a day!

Most Thanksgivings, after we somewhat recovered from our food comas, we would go out to Uncle Bryan and Aunt Mary's house in the country.  I would go on a walk through the woods with my Daddy, enjoying the crispness of the fall air and the beauty of the changing leaves.

And just like those changing leaves, years passed and life changed.  Eventually, Granny got too old to prepare our Thanksgiving feast, and the yearly celebration was moved to my parents' house.  Then we all grew up and moved away, so we began our own rotation of Thanksgivings spent with our own parents/siblings and those spent with our new families.  I remember the first Thanksgiving I spent in Austin with Jeff's family, and the feeling that it was all wrong - their food and traditions were different from those of my family, and for the first time in my life, there was no dish of Granny's Candied Sweet Potatoes on the table.  But, I adjusted and enjoyed the new dishes, traditions, and people who were now also a part of my family.

Eventually, our children came and grew, older family members passed away, and new plans and traditions were born.  We transitioned from having Thanksgiving meals at grandparent tables to having them at our table.  Our siblings did the same.  And now, things have changed again as our children are grown and beginning families of their own.

Today, our two girls, two bonus sons, and our two grandchildren are in other places.  Sarah, Ryan, Lydia, and Henry are spending their Thanksgiving hosting friends in Tennessee.  Becca and Jeff are celebrating in Indiana with Jeff's family.  Caleb is here, and we will be enjoying a meal with several of our spiritual family later today - two of whom we will meet for the first time when they enter our home to share our meal together - - one of the great blessings of being a part of God's family!

All of the thoughts of Thanksgiving and looking back made me realize that holidays are sort of a microcosm of life.  We are born into certain traditions, and some days are bigger than others - like the days we graduate from the stool or the times when we are painfully aware of the empty chair that was filled in previous years.  We enjoy new additions to the table through marriage and birth, and sometimes we even transition to a totally different table.  Our roles in the event change over time as well - from consumer to producer, and eventually back to consumer.  And interspersed throughout all of the laughter and tears, joy and loneliness, happiness and heartache, celebrations and mundane, runs the common thread of love and family.

So, Happy Thanksgiving!  Wherever you find yourself today, I hope you will feel as loved and overwhelmingly blessed as I do.

“Loving others isn't about us at all. And until that sinks in, we'll never be able to love the way Christ truly loved.” ~Jarrid Wilson

October 11, 2003 - 15 years ago today - ended the worst week of my life.  Five days earlier, my 68-year-old active, healthy daddy went to his deer lease, fell out of a tree, and died within minutes of his fall.  Events of that week are burned into my memory forever.

I remember the phone call from my brother, who told me what had happened.  I can tell you word-for-word, even now - 15 years later, exactly what he said.  I remember telling my 13 and 10-year-old children that their Papa was dead.  I remember the hour-long drive on a warm, foggy night to my mother's house where I had to tell her the same horrible news.  I remember making phone calls from her house, and my brother arriving late that night with Daddy's cap, wallet, and glasses which were still damp from the rain that had fallen earlier that day before his body was discovered.  I remember a sleepless night in the room I had grown up in and then rising the next day, driving a few miles with my brother to the nursing home where my Granny resided and telling her that her only living son was dead.  I remember a phone call from the coroner, and a trip later that day to the funeral home where we made those arrangements, chose a coffin and wrote an obituary.  I remember the next day, going once again to the funeral home, and viewing my daddy's lifeless body for the first time.  I remember the visitation and the funeral, and the darkness that enveloped me as we left his body at the cemetery - the realization that this was not a bad dream, he was really gone, and he wasn't coming back.

If that was the end of the story, what a sad, depressing story it would be.  It would be devastating.  Even now, after all of this time, as I recall those details, I do so with tears filling my eyes.  But this is not the whole story.  Far from it.

The night I learned of Daddy's accident, I wasn't the only one.  By the time I arrived at my mother's house around 10 pm, several members of my Christian family where she lives were already parked out front waiting for me.  They went into the house with me as I told my mother that horrible news.  And they stayed.  And more people came.  They couldn't really do anything that night, but they were there.  My Christian family - people I had known all of my life, who loved my physical family, came to simply be present on that horrible night.

And it didn't end there.  They provided food for us throughout the week - so much food, in fact, that one friend had to loan us her portable refrigerator.  They opened their homes for our out-of-town family, and anticipated our every need.  Back home, my church family made sure my kids were cared for, and many of them traveled to my parents' town to be with us for the visitation and the funeral.  Others of my Christian family several hours away also made that trip.

Upon learning that I needed to travel back home mid-week to get more clothes, one of my lifelong friends insisted on driving me - an hour home and an hour back to my mom's house, leaving her own husband and two school-aged daughters at home in order to see to my needs.  And she did this after she had worked all day.

Another friend from my church family at home brought a meal to our house once we were back home the week after the funeral.  She knew that I had not been to the grocery store in a week, and that after the stress of the previous week I would not feel like cooking that first day back home.

I remember it all.  The visits, flowers, shared tears, hugs, expressions of love, having my every need not only met, but anticipated, so that I never had to ask for anything.

At the end of that week, one of my uncles commented about the great love shown to us by our Christian family.  It made me think of what Jesus told His disciples in John 13:35 - "By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

Last week we had a wonderful series of lessons presented by Ryan Boyer on what it means to be the family of God.  (You can listen to those here.)  One of the greatest blessings of my life is the wonderful relationship I have with my brothers and sisters in Christ, made possible by the great love of our Father.  Ryan's lessons last week reminded me of that - the unity, loyalty, trust, and cooperation that is vital to our family relationships; as well as the sharing of stuff, decisions, love, responsibility, and, of course, suffering.  I appreciated all of those reminders last week, as well as the challenge to improve MY outreach in these areas.

Yes, October 11, 2003 ended one of the worst weeks of my life.  But in other ways, it ended one of the weeks I have felt the most loved and cared for in my entire life.  And during this week each year, I choose to spend most of my time reflecting - not on the horrors of my loss, but on the blessings that resulted from my needs.  My earthly father is gone, but how thankful I am that he taught me to love my Heavenly Father.  And because of my relationship with Him, I have an abundance of brothers and sisters in Christ, as well as mothers and fathers in the faith.

What an indescribable blessing to be part of the family of God!

“'What day is it?' asked Pooh. 'It’s today,' squeaked Piglet. 'My favorite day,' said Pooh.” ~A.A. Milne

She's well into her 80's, this wise, God-fearing friend of mine, whom I have grown to have a great deal of love and respect for in the 21 years we have worshipped in the same congregation each week.  In our weekly chats before services, she often imparts to me some bit of wisdom that gives me pause - something I have not thought about before, or a tidbit of sagacity that I continue to ruminate on through the ensuing days.

A few weeks ago, she mentioned the need to live in the moment.  She talked about how at her age she finds joy and pleasure in the seemingly mundane junctures of time.  The example she gave was of watching a crow eat a dead squirrel.  As she watched, she was entranced by how God designed His world to work - how even when an animal dies, God sends in his own clean-up crew . . . and a very efficient one at that!  Once I recovered from the mental image of this sweet, proper older lady lingering over such a gruesome sight, I understood and appreciated her point.  She also spoke of how she wishes she had truly absorbed each moment of her life.  "Nothing," she said, "is unimportant.  If only we could always be mindful of that!"

 I think in some respects we all can relate to her thoughts.  We tend toward two extremes - either we wistfully look to the past, wishing for the "good old days," too absorbed in our memories to take notice of today; or, we take the "I can't wait" approach - one where we are always looking to the future for what will be.  And in the process of those two extremes, we miss this - the here and now.  Today.

Now I do believe there's a place for looking back.  We can gain a lot by looking at our past behavior and improving ourselves.  That should be an active part of our growth each day - to look back, evaluate, learn, and resolve to be better today than I was yesterday.  I also enjoy my daily dose of Timehop, which shows me photos that were taken on that day - some going back as far as 15 years or more!  Most of those photos make me smile as I remember the people and events captured in the snapshots - moments that helped the relationships that I have with loved ones grow.  That's another benefit of looking back - shared experiences make for shared memories which strengthen our bonds with family and friends.  I'm thankful for that, but I need to be careful not to get lost in it.

There's also a place for looking forward.  Planning is important.  In order to be successful in every facet of life, we must be able to anticipate future events and plan accordingly.  Without a forward-thinking mindset, we will often be caught spinning our wheels and accomplishing very little in this life.  Similarly, we all have "big" events in our lives that we look forward to - we "can't wait" to... graduate, get married, have a baby, get a promotion, etc., etc.  We "count the days" as anticipation builds.  And, again - all of that is good to a point.  But I need to be careful that I don't get so wrapped up in tomorrow that I miss today.

Sometimes life sends us reminders - accidents, serious illnesses, the death of someone we love (to name just a few) can abruptly slap us back into that "in the moment" mindset.  At those times, we often renew our commitment to soak it all in - but then days come and go, we become mesmerized by the mundane, and we fall back into the same old moment-stealing traps.

Orson Scott Card wrote, "She worked her toes into the sand, feeling the tiny delicious pain of the friction of tiny chips of silicon against the tender flesh between her toes. That's life. It hurts, it's dirty, and it feels very, very good.”  I like that summation - even the moments that hurt or seem boring are moments to be fully absorbed. 

Living in the moment can be hard.  But my prayer each day is that God will help me do just that, setting the right balance between learning from the past and planning for the future, as I seek to be fully invested in THIS moment.  Whether it's some of the moments pictured here - ones that I remember making that conscious effort to be all in - some big and some seemingly small.  Walking on the beach with Lydia and discovering the joys of that through her eyes for the first time; celebrating Henry's first birthday surrounded by the ones I love most in this world; meeting a dear friend for lunch; watching one of my girls and her forever love walking hand-in-hand along the beach; stopping on a neighborhood walk to watch our resident fox; FaceTiming with my boy while he was in Guatemala; or just sitting on the patio with my forever love - actually, as I think about it, ALL of these moments are big ones for me.

I'm thankful for them all.  And I'm thankful as well for my octogenarian friend who imparts her snippets of wisdom to me on a regular basis.  Life through the eyes of someone who has lived it wisely much longer than I have is profitable for every moment of life.

"A good mother loves fiercely but ultimately brings up her children to thrive without her. They must be the most important thing in her life, but if she is the most important thing in theirs, she has failed." ~Erin Kelly

It began last Monday.  Caleb was the first to go.

All of our chicks except for Ryan had been back in the nest for the previous four glorious days.  They had all arrived close to the same time on Friday, and instantly there was the loudness, laughter, teasing, and the familiarity that comes from 25 years of being a family.  For the next few days following their arrival, we all eased right back into our unique familiar rhythm.  The newer members who were here - Jeff O., Lydia, and Henry - have assimilated themselves quite naturally into that cadence, and they (along with Ryan) have become a part of US . . . the original five, who now number nine.


Much food and coffee were consumed, games were played, swimming was enjoyed, and cuddling with the little ones was soaked in.  There were pretend tea parties in the "Pongyong" (aka, playroom), walks around the neighborhood where the ducks were fed, baths which occurred in my kitchen sink, and many trips to the potty in what Lydia dubbed "Mimi's fancy bathroom."  It was a loved-filled weekend where laughter was shared as well as tears.  Memories were made, and bonds were strengthened.

      

And then, just as swiftly as they came, they left.  With each departure, I felt a unique emotion that I've come to consistently associate with being separated from them.

I first sensed it on Monday when I watched Caleb load Ranger into his truck and drive out of my view down the street.  That same feeling overwhelmed me on Tuesday when I hugged Jeff O. and then Becca as they headed out the door before sunrise.  And then again with the finality of this family time enveloping me on Wednesday, I watched Sarah, Lydia and Henry walk through security at DFW airport and disappear from my view.  I know what you're thinking - the feeling I'm speaking of must be sadness.  In a way that's true, but there's more.  So much more.

I love our family time together.  (And, by the way,  the previous sentence is the understatement of my entire life.)  I love remembering the days gone by that have brought us to this moment in time, and I miss them when they're not here.  Nothing compares to being able to touch them, hug them, and share physical space. But the sadness I feel at seeing them go is the least of my emotions.

First and most importantly, John said it best when he wrote in 3 John 1:4, "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth."  Christianity is not something they do - it's who they are.  And because of this, I feel great joy when I know that as Caleb leaves our home and goes back to his life in Irving, he is striving in all he does to walk in the truth.  He goes to work every day, offering service to his employer "as unto the Lord."  He actively looks for ways to help others - I could give specific examples, but that would probably embarrass him, so I won't.  But he has created a life of his own, separate from mine.  And in that life, he is thriving.

Likewise, as Becca climbed into the passenger seat of her car with her husband at the wheel and Brinkley in her lap, I knew she was heading back to THEIR home - one they are building solidly on God's truths.  A home where she is loved and cherished, and one where she seeks to serve and honor.  I find great joy in that.  It also brings me great delight to know that in her job as a NICU nurse she is able to help and comfort others - a gift that Becca has always had when it comes to loving other people.  She, too, is thriving in the life she has in Midland - a life that does not directly involve me or her dad.

And finally, as Sarah, Lydia, and Henry disappeared from view after a stressful check-in and security line at the airport, I made my way alone back to my car with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.  Lonely?  Somewhat, yes, but mostly joyful and thankful.  Her whole life, all Sarah has ever wanted to be is a wife and a mommy, and God has blessed her with that life.  As I walked away from her last week, she was boarding a plane to return to HER home in Nashville, to a husband who seeks to lead his family in a godly way, and who graciously allowed her and those precious children to spend a week away from him to be with us.  I marvel when I see our Sarah in her roles as wife and mommy - - no one does it better, and I know she thrives in her life and in those roles because she is actively serving God and walking in His truth each day as she works alongside Ryan to teach those things to their children.  And like her sister and her brother, she has a life separate from mom and dad.

What a blessing to be their mom.  And Mimi.  And mother-in-law.  Even though they are scattered for many miles in both directions, they are never far from me.  My first thoughts each morning as I pray are for them.  And my last thoughts each night as I go to sleep are also of them.  Their photos fill our home, and our "Stewart Fam" group text messages keep me entertained.  The individual texts, phone calls, and FaceTime chats are treasured, and our next planned gatherings are greatly anticipated.

So yes, I'm a little sad when they leave, and I would love it if they all lived closer - - but as the title of this post states, even though they (and their dad) are the most important people in my life, I'm more joyful and thankful that they are thriving without me.  That's what God intended.  He wants us to raise our children to leave (Gen. 2:24) - - to work ourselves out of a job, so to speak.  To teach them to thrive without us.  And when I pillow my head at night, that's what I thank Him for the most.

"Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind." ~Henry James

We had been in the air for 15 very long hours on our flight from Houston, Texas to Auckland, New Zealand.  As we made our approach to the Auckland Airport, I snapped this photo...

Even though we were exhausted from getting very little sleep, seeing the ground below gave us new energy!  We gathered our things, exited the plane, worked our way through customs, retrieved our luggage, and made our way to the airport exit.  We had pre-arranged to have a driver waiting for us there to take us to our hotel.  So, when we got to a line of people holding signs, we looked for someone with one that said, "Stewart" on it . . . slowly the realization sunk in that our name wasn't there.  Our driver was not waiting for us. 

I'm sure we appeared to be confused tourists as we looked at each sign.  Jeff put down his bags, opened up his backpack, and pulled out a folder with contact information in it to try to call the company who had said they would be there to pick us up.  As he fumbled through various papers and I continued to look for a sign saying "Stewart," a lady wearing a limo uniform holding a sign with an unfamiliar name approached us.  She asked who was supposed to pick us up, immediately got on her phone to call the owner of a company she did not work for, made contact with our driver, and learned that he was running late.  We thanked her, but instead of going back to her job of looking for the man she was waiting to pick up, she stayed with us, finding out where we were from, learning what our plans for the week included, and offering her advice on everything from driving in New Zealand to sites we should not miss.  Our driver finally arrived, and as we collected our luggage to leave with him, we thanked our new friend as Jeff attempted to tip her.  She refused our money, saying that she simply wanted to be sure that foreign visitors to New Zealand begin their vacation with a warm, welcoming experience.

Be kind.

I think we all heard this phrase many times growing up.  Perhaps it was most often used by our parents as we learned to live with our siblings.  Or maybe we heard it when we were tempted by our neighborhood pals to shun the new child on the block.  Whatever the case, kindness is something we all grew up with.

The word "kind" when used as an adjective means "friendly, deliberately doing good to others."  You can see the word "kin" there, and that is no accident - - originally the word meant "with the feeling of relatives for each other; with natural feeling; benign, compassionate, loving, full of tenderness."

Be kind.

We've all been on the receiving end of kindness, like Jeff and I experienced when we landed in New Zealand - experiences where there is seemingly nothing in it for the one showing kindness.  Sometimes it's as simple as someone in the checkout line letting us go in front of them because we have fewer items.  Other times it's a kind word, a smile, or a sweet compliment.  And when we are on the receiving end of kindness, it makes us feel warm.  Special. Loved.  Even those seemingly small gestures . . . and sometimes especially those little things!  We all know people who are good at spreading kindness.  They seem to have an innate ability to always be kind.

What about me?

As a Christian, kindness is not an option.  Paul wrote in Ephesians 4:32 that we are to "be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you."  Of this word "kind" in this verse, the Pulpit Commentary defines it as, "sweet, amiable in disposition, subduing all that is harsh and hasty, encouraging all that is gentle and good."  I like that idea - sweet, amiable in disposition, not harsh and hasty . . . all of which requires forethought.

When I see a pregnant woman with several children in tow, what do I say?  Do I make it my mission to ask her if she knows what causes that? (Of course, she does.)  Do I ask her if this pregnancy was planned? (Frankly, that is none of my business.)  Do I comment about her size, maybe telling her she's as big as a house? (I'm sure she is already well aware of her size since mirrors tend to be everywhere.)  Or do I simply say something like, "Look at those precious children - what a blessing!"  Which of those responses is kind?

The same can be applied to a young lady who has been married for several years who has no children.  Do I say something to her like, "When are you going to have a baby?"  (Did you ever stop to consider that she might be struggling with infertility, or maybe she just had a miscarriage and no one outside of her family knew she was pregnant.)  Or in that same vane, knowing someone who has had a miscarriage, do you say to them, "well, at least you know you can get pregnant!"  How is that helpful?  How is that kind?

The "kind or not" scenario happens repeatedly throughout each day as we interact with others, and it doesn't just apply to how we interact with women who are of childbearing age.  When we utter a sharp or cutting word when it would be better to keep our mouths closed, we have been unkind.  When we call into question someone's motive without taking the time to learn and examine the facts, we are not being kind.

In The Friendship Book of Francis Gay, Herbert Leslie Gee wrote this:  "As the bus slowed down at a crowded bus stop, the Pakistani bus conductor leaned from the platform and called out, 'Six only!' The bus stopped. He counted on six passengers, rang the bell, and then, as the bus moved off, called to those left behind: 'So sorry, plenty of room in my heart — but the bus is full.' He left behind a row of smiling faces. It's not what you do, it's the way that you do it…"  I love that.

Look for those who seem to be lost, and offer a helping hand.  Think before you speak.  Consider before you act.  Get the facts.  Put yourself in the place of other people.  Be kind.  As Og Mandino wrote, "Beginning today, treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all the care, kindness and understanding you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again."

And neither will theirs.  Jeff and I will remember the kindness of that stranger from New Zealand in the airport that day as our first interaction with someone from that country, and how she got our trip off to a great start.  What a great example to follow as we show similar kindnesses to strangers as well as loved ones each day, giving everyone we encounter a glimpse into what it means to be a citizen... not of New Zealand, or even the USA, but a citizen of the kingdom of God!

“My family tree has many branches, both living and dead... but all equally important. I cherish the memories that make its roots run deep.” ~ Lynda I Fisher

Last year I ordered a DNA kit, spit into a vial, and shipped my saliva off via the US Mail to be analyzed.  I wasn't really as interested in learning about my ancestors as I was in learning my predisposition to certain diseases.  However, the ancestry reports were fascinating.  Most of my ancestry composition was as I expected - heavily European, with mostly British and Irish ancestry.  I did have extremely small percentages of some ethnicities that were a surprise to me, such as East Asian, Native American, Sub-Saharan African, and even some Japanese. 

Nestled among the reports on Ancestry I found one about my "DNA Relatives."  I really didn't pay much attention to this report until this week when I received an email from the DNA testing site that said a "relative" had sent me a message.  "Sandy" was requesting to connect with me, stating that we shared DNA indicating that we are 2nd to 3rd cousins, and she hoped I could provide some information on her ancestry search.  I looked at her page, where she had surnames of ancestors listed, and found my maiden name listed there.  Doubtful that I could provide any relevant information to her about the Meadows family, I replied to her message, telling her I would help with any information I knew.  What happened next was shocking to me.

Sandy told me that her great-grandfather was George Washington Meadows.  He had been married to her great-grandmother, Flora, and they had four children in Georgia.  She said she had searched census records and learned that he had moved to Texas, but her trail grew cold after that. 

I read her message several times, feeling somewhat confused.  My confusion stemmed from the fact that MY great-grandfather was George Washington Meadows.  Yes, I knew he had moved to Texas from Georgia, only he hadn't been married to Flora - he was married to MY great-grandmother, Annie, and they had two boys - Gordon, and my grandfather, Clifford.  So, we couldn't be talking about the same George Washington Meadows.

Long story, short - the DNA doesn't lie.  It was the same George Washington Meadows.  Apparently, he had a wife and family in Georgia.  We know little of what happened, but the facts we do know are troubling to me - he apparently left that family for a woman 20 years younger than himself (George was working as a day-laborer on Annie's father's farm in Georgia), moved to Texas, and started a new life.

George died in 1940, so I never knew him.  My daddy was born in 1935, so he probably didn't have many memories of his grandfather - I never heard Daddy talk much about him.  And the only thing I ever really heard my PawPaw say about George (who was PawPaw's father) was that his mother was 20 years younger, and she always referred to her husband as Mr. Meadows.

I have vague memories of Annie - we called her "Mama Meadows," and I remember visiting her in a nursing home - - a frail, sweet, little old lady.  I have some beautiful glassware that was hers.  But beyond that, I know nothing about who she really was.

And to me, the strangest part of all of this story is that no one in my family ever knew any of this about George.  My brother, who had traced the Meadows family history, had not run across this scandal, either.  As far as I know, my PawPaw never knew he had four half-siblings living in Georgia.

Lille Mae - my PawPaw's half sister

Sandy sent me a picture yesterday of her grandmother -- Lillie Mae -- she's the one on the left.  She was my PawPaw's half-sister.  So she would be my great-aunt. 

Granny & PawPaw

When I got this, it really hit an emotional chord with me.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe part of it was because I would've loved to have been able to call my daddy and share this information with him about these new relatives.  It also made me think a lot of Granny and PawPaw.  I miss them all. 

But more than that, it made me think about family, and life, and chance, and memories we make with those we love...

Even though I am appalled at the way George Washington Meadows apparently conducted his life, and the people he likely destroyed along the way, the reality is that if he hadn't married Annie Gordon, I wouldn't be here.  Nor would my grandfather, nor my dad.  And while I'm not thankful for how it happened, I am glad that George and Annie had Clifford... and that Clifford and Miriam had my dad.  And that my mom and dad had me.

And then there's the reality of time.  George Washington Meadows was born in 1865 and died in 1940.  Less than 80 years ago he walked this earth, but everyone who knew him here is gone.  All we have left of him are the census records, the grave marker, and the few stories that have been passed down.  So what does that mean for me? 

I think about my own family.  If I am blessed to live on this earth for several more decades, I will be able to make lasting memories with Lydia, Henry, and future grandchildren.  But the reality is that past their generation, I won't be remembered.  If I'm known at all, it will be just a few family stories that are passed down from those who do know me. 

But this shouldn't be a sad thought.  Instead, it should motivate me.  Because you see, even though George Washington Meadows lived a less than admirable life, he did add a son - my grandfather - to this earth.  And that son met and married my granny, who came from a Christian home.  And with them began a legacy of faith - one that I can pass on to my children and grandchildren.  A legacy that will have eternal significance.

Isn't that the only thing that really matters?  That we serve God in the brief time we are here, and that we teach our children and grandchildren to love the Lord and serve Him, too.  That we love those around us - whether we share DNA or not - and brighten whatever little corner of the world we occupy as much as we can.  That we leave this world a better place than we found it. 

I'm thankful that my new-found cousin contacted me.  But I'm more grateful for the reminders that came from that chance meeting.  And I pray that THESE people - the ones who share most of my DNA - will not only pass on the genetic information contained in the DNA that makes us family but that they will seek to pass on that which is more important than DNA -- a lasting legacy of faithfulness as members of the family of God.