A day of memories . . . But first, I must correct an error in the previous post. I said that Tommy told us that "he would move without us," but that is the fartherest thing from the truth. He insisted that if we didn't move, he wouldn't move. That's why God's timing was so perfect. After watching a bit of the Memphis news station this morning, I turned off the TV and turned on the stereo. At some times I avoid certain CD's and at others, I play our favorites and bask in all the memories. Our taste covered a lot of the music world--from bluegrass to folk songs; from symphonic to choral; from Frank Sinatra to John Denver. Tom loved marches. One of his all time faves was "Pomp and Pizazz," played by Eric Kuntzle (sp.?) and the Cincinnati Pops. In fact, he played it so much we wore out the first copy and we were on the second. He liked nothing more than when Tommy and Marty's friends came to our house for the first time, than to ask if they would like to hear his marches. Of course, they had to say "Yes." Then he would put on that CD, turn up the volume and the "Olympic Fanfare" could be heard all over the neighborhood. As I sat, knitting and listening to quiter things this morning, I couldn't help but feel the big, empty void in my heart. I tried to fill it with memories we shared and realized how fast the years pass, how much we seemed to leave undone. After lunch I dressed and went to a baby shower for one of Tom's former caregivers. On the way I noticed new bright green signs in several yards, replacing the "Jesus" signs with one that says "Hope." On the way home I saw a billboard with the same four letter word. How appropriate, especially this time of year! Jesus is our Hope. Because of His sacrifice, we have hope beyond the grave. Because of His life, we have hope to live every moment trusting in God's moment by moment blessings. Because of Hope, I know I will be with Tom again. I don't know how; I don't know what he will look like; I don't know about eternity, but I trust in that Hope. A special, special friend from California called this morning. He chaired the committee that called me to Fair Oaks church and he and his late wife became family to us. We haven't talked since Tom died; neither of us wanted to cry together on the phone, but today we talked, sharing our tears and the sorrow of lost spouses. The memories of how we became friends, their coming to Mississippi to participate in my ordination, the relationship the four of us had replaced some of the void I felt. I trust it did the same for him. The week has been busy with business details and packing. Still, I took a day to go with two friends for a knitting lesson in Memphis. We all needed it for the various projects we have going! I really miss Tom when trying to work on all the endless business details. Finally, the correct marriage liscense arrived and I was able to tend to the Socail Security, thinking all the while that it would take another two months for them to respond. I was pleasantly surprised to find deposits in the bank the very next day! Income tax info was mailed to my friend and CPA. You probably heard my sigh of relief! I was happy about the things I had learned from Tom about pulling everything together, but when it came time to mail, I realized I hadn't learned enough. I miss Tom's wise counsel. On the other hand, there is another memory that makes both Tommy and me chuckle. Tom was not a "fix-it" kind of guy. As long as he lived, Dad was the person we all went to when something needed fixing. Neither, did Tom enjoy woodworking; Dad did. Tommy fixes things, does projects around the house and enjoys restoring furniture, all of which he learned from watching his granddaddy. He called earlier and told me he almost went this morning to purchase a new weed eater, but decided instead to take it apart to see if he could fix it. He found a bent washer, replaced it with a new one (from supplies he got from Dad's shop) and it works like new. I told him that I hoped Jacob was learning from him and the trait Tommy got from his granddaddy would pass directly to Jacob, not skipping a generation like it did with him. He laughed and I'm sure lots of memories flooded his mind as they did mine. In defense of Tom, he did take on projects that needed doing, attacking them with all his might--he just didn't like to. Memories are one of God's most gracious and healing gifts. I have enough to last a lifetime! Blessings, Pastor Margaret