THE END TIMES

THE END TIMES

Jesus came to earth 2000 years ago and lived among us and died on the cross for our sins. He subsequently rose from the dead and ascended to heaven. That is a fact most Christians today believe and count on. ..but the people at that time didn’t see him as the son of God. They had the Torah (first five books of the old testament), psalms and prophets preached to them every Sabbath predicting the arrival of a messiah, the Old Testament contains 330 prophesies of the messiah, the Anointed one, our Savior and Lord Jesus Christ, yet they didn’t recognize the facts as applied to the carpenter from Nazareth. They couldn’t believe the fullness of time had finally come for God to enter the world for prophesies to be fulfilled. They were major doubters until they looked backwards and saw with 20/20 hindsight. Watching the sandaled feet of Jesus disappear into the sky helped. In wasn't until then that the Christian movement took off running.

Now 2000 years later we Christians are seeing prophesies fulfilled, but we are just as skeptical , we claim that the new testament prophesies of the end times are symbolic, not the be taken literally. Well, look around, what is symbolic of all the earthquakes, fires, and deaths that are accelerating. What symbolism due you see in revelation 6 that you want to disregard?

The Seals
6 I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, “Come!” 2 I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest.
3 When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come!” 4 Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make people kill each other. To him was given a large sword.
5 When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come!” I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand. 6 Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, “Two pounds[a] of wheat for a day’s wages,[b] and six pounds[c] of barley for a day’s wages,[d] and do not damage the oil and the wine!”
7 When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, “Come!” 8 I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.
9 When he opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. 10 They called out in a loud voice, “How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?” 11 Then each of them was given a white robe, and they were told to wait a little longer, until the full number of their fellow servants, their brothers and sisters,[e] were killed just as they had been.

When this is all over do you think Jesus will take us aside and repeat what he said on the road to Emmaus to the two troubled disciples. Luke 24:25 “He said to them, “How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! 26 Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” 27 And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself.”

The present world has to suffer before we enter our glory. What do we have to do to have 20/20 vision? Will it take that white horse galloping towards us with a rider whose arrival is described in Revelation 19:11? "And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war.
12 His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man knew, but he himself.
13 And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood: and his name is called The Word of God.
14 And the armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean.
15 And out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword, that with it he should smite the nations: and he shall rule them with a rod of iron: and he treadeth the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God.
16 And he hath on his vesture and on his thigh a name written, KING OF KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS.
17 And I saw an angel standing in the sun; and he cried with a loud voice, saying to all the fowls that fly in the midst of heaven, Come and gather yourselves together unto the supper of the great God;
18 That ye may eat the flesh of kings, and the flesh of captains, and the flesh of mighty men, and the flesh of horses, and of them that sit on them, and the flesh of all men, both free and bond, both small and great.
19 And I saw the beast, and the kings of the earth, and their armies, gathered together to make war against him that sat on the horse, and against his army.
20 And the beast was taken, and with him the false prophet that wrought miracles before him, with which he deceived them that had received the mark of the beast, and them that worshipped his image. These both were cast alive into a lake of fire burning with brimstone.
21 And the remnant were slain with the sword of him that sat upon the horse, which sword proceeded out of his mouth: and all the fowls were filled with their flesh."

Sure the book of Revelations has tons of symbolism but John couldn’t describe what he saw in his vision in terms of his time, he saw things beyond his time from the twentieth and twenty first centuries. He also had to protect the believers from attacks from the Roman emperors who would have considered talk of a king coming to take over the world treason and increased persecution of any followers of Christ. We can't criticize the first century believers for their hindsight, apparently our blinders are just as real.

the reservation

When I called a few weeks ago to reserve a hotel room at Days Inn for this weekend in Mount Pleasant I told the clerk I would call back since I needed to think about it first. He informed me he couldn't assure a room if I waited to book a reservation as the motel was filling up rapidly. Naturally I went ahead and confirmed the reservation thinking I could cancel later if necessary. Well of course everyone knows by now I made the trip after worrying about weather conditions for ten days, ("almost" needlessly since it did do some thunder and lightning on the return trip).

 

Once Bryan and I checked into the motel by a clerk who didn't know where the nearest gas station was (an Exxon was RIGHT next door) we went to the pool from 3- 4:00. No one was there but us and two stray kittens who were eating some "raw meat" some one left there, then we went to dinner at the Motel's grill at 5:30. A dark place with juke boxes, a dance floor, flashing mood lights and bar tables No one was there, except for the waitress (all tattooed and pierced) a cook and one homie watching sports. At least dinner wasn't delayed.

 

In our room, which was in the back out of view of the main thorough fare, we didn't get cell service connection, and noticed no cars were in the parking lot but ours...and we observed the sky was darkening accompanied with the smell of rain in the atmosphere in preparation for night storms. Just the kind of night for Frankenstein and Dracula movies.

 

Thank heavens for Bryan and his knowledge of zombies. He said the conditions were ripe for a zombie attack. No communication except internal to the motel desk (where the brain dead clerk was), we were the only occupants of the motel except for the afore mentioned raw meat eating stray kittens, and an over cast threatening sky.

With Bryan's expertise in Zombie behavior we slept with our guns under our pillows for precautionary measures, all we needed was one shot to the heads to bring their dead bodies down. NOT. Actually the reruns of the Golden Girls, Frazier and I Love Lucy delivered us from harm! Thank you Lord for cable, if the zombies were roaming around last night, we didn't hear them over:

 

Thank you for being a friend

Traveled down the road and back again

Your heart is true you're a pal and a confidant

 

And if you threw a party

Invited everyone you ever knew

You would see the biggest gift would be from me

And the card attached would say thank you for being a friend.

owls

About the  owls on my Facebook page: Tabby, my daughter, who just recently passed away, always commented when ever she saw an owl that it reminded her of my mother who had collected them. When Tabby died I had wondered who had come to escort her to heaven. I believe family are present when we pass. The gospels mention angels escorting the beggar Lazarus to Abraham's bosom, angels can be translated messenger, hence family qualifies.  

 When I went to get a guest book for her funeral I picked any old book off the shelf but then...I saw a book covered with owls, so guess which one I got? Next  I went to get thank you notes, and guess again, owl thank you notes.  My son, who was with me, noticed  some key chains...yea, owls. Of course I bought two, one for each of us. a total of three owl sightings. I conjectured from these "heavenly" omens that God answered my question about at least one option who had been on pick up service for Tabby's soul. My mom. 

Later when I went through Tabby's things I found a glass statue she had salvaged from her  absolutely chaotic move out of my son's house that I had bought for my mother many years ago. You're right an owl. It sits on display in my computer room now, across from Tabby's "Lady" candle holders, that she was so proud of and had been on her dresser.

During the day whenever I get lonely and sad  I ask God to let Tabby know I'm thinking of her and guess what?.....I'll see someone with a IPhone cover that has a .....yep, an owl on it! Ain't God good?

Well yesterday I went to Cracker Barrel and  there was a display of Owl cups, plates and such. I walked away from it thinking that was too much for me today, I didn't want to get all emotional in public. Around the corner were some more owls on children's clothes. Walked away. Owl stuffed animal.  Walked away. I went to the Thanksgiving display surmising  that would be safe. Wrong. Who ever associated Owls with Thanksgiving?? Well someone at Cracker Barrel did because there were pilgrim owls ready for feast day! I gave up looking for a safe owl free  place in the store so went in to the dining area to eat, averting my eyes from the walls to avoid any owl signage! But by now my mind was filled with owls. There's a lot of room in my head for owls and other trivial stuff.

So...I got out my IPhone and found some owls on Google and whalla, owl's are now on my Facebook cover and profile picture. And my phone lock page and open screen...and imprinted forever on my heart as my mother and daughter's memory triggers, God's wink, to remind me they are waiting for me ...along with my Dad and his dragonfly triggers, but that is another story altogether.

luke 16:22

luke 16:22

Lesson Learned?

 

 

LESSON LEARNED?

My daughter had to leave her home fast in the middle of January/February; wintery weather.  Well, it was actually just a room in a house she shared with her brother and sister in law, but it was packed. Clothes and books were strewn all over the floor and bed along with empty food wrappers.  Roaches in the millions were crawling everywhere, falling from the ceiling, doors and walls. (Gross)  The house was being sold to someone planning on doing lots of expensive and extensive renovations so Tabby had to leave, (the word “obviously” should be inserted here). Yes, she had some notice but failed to prepare. She was bipolar and very lethargic from her medicine, and she was in crippling denial.  She didn’t want to move from the house she had been born in, and lived in off and on for forty years. And she didn’t want to live alone. Her home, her family, all was disintegrating before her eyes.

 I hurriedly helped her pack boxes and bags, fussing over what should be ditched, and brought them to my house where they were placed outside and heavily sprayed (after  I had doused the interior of my car) with insecticide then I left the boxes and bags covered with tarp in the yard to freeze any pest that survived the poison. No roaches were coming into my house alive. I got Tabby and her poodle a motel room very nearby to stay in while she was waiting for approval from her apartment application. Tabby’s life style and mine were incompatible so staying with me was out of the question. 

The week she was in the motel she wanted me to go to the condemned house and rescue items she had left;  coloring pens, some books and her stereo system.  Imagine how many roaches can live in a stereo system.  I refused, not because I was mean but because  I didn’t want any more encounters with roaches, they spread fast and I wanted her new apartment to be off limits to creepy crawlies. I planned on replacing her abandoned items gradually as the months passed.

One afternoon she called to remind me of Ash Wednesday and that she wanted to go to church that evening. I balked; tired from a long day of work and hit hard with seasonal affective disorder, it was cold and dark out, but sensing it was important to her I acquiesced.  We had a stupid argument on the way to church, as were most of our arguments so she sat up front in a pew by herself. I felt miserable in my usual back seat pew. After church I took selfies of us with our ashes. I wasn’t totally pleased with the pictures; I’m a rank amateur at selfies.

The first week Tabby was in her apartment was a horrendous week filled with hazardous icy road conditions. I went to her place daily with a few boxes of her possessions at a time, fearful of the ice covered roads and steep inclines, I skidded into a curb one afternoon and injured my knee on the steering wheel. Every day I tried to set up her television and DVD player; (it took a week to get that accomplished due to technical difficulties). I felt horrible for Tabby, no phone yet, (I didn’t want to go shopping for one with the roads in such bad conditions) and no entertainment for a week. But she had her dog and I was there every afternoon for a brief visit so I could hear her complain about losing her coloring pens; I was sure they were in one of the loaded boxes and would eventually materialize.

Then came the day, shortly after Ash Wednesday, I found Tabby lying on her bed room floor, lifeless, purple, and bloated. Her apartment a mess filled with the tang of death and trash.  She’d had company so I hadn’t been by in a few days. And she hadn’t answered the cell phone I’d finally purchased for her. She had died of natural causes per the coroner’s report. I think it was a broken heart.

I had the job of cleaning things up and transporting her things back to my garage: where they sat and sat and sat. I wasn’t ready to go through them. I already knew most of the new things we bought for her apartment still hadn’t been opened, dishes, pots and pans, bowls, even food. She had been devastatingly depressed the miniscule time she had been on her own.

Her funeral was well attended, to my surprise. I certainly didn’t expect a turnout of over one hundred and sixty.  She would have been stunned. I barely expected family and a few close friends, but she had been involved in some charities and church missions, they all attended. And of course my friends were there.

Eventually the day came when I opened a box. There was her lady candle holder collection of six that had sat on her old dresser. Digging deeper were pictures and wall hangings that had been my mother’s. Wow, my mother’s.  In another box I found the bibles and note books I had repacked from her closet, filled with Tabby’s handwriting in colored pens. No wonder she wanted those pens so badly, she used them religiously. I mean she used them religiously. Not a bible page was left untouched. Her thoughts and emotions were there for me to read. I never knew. Oh, I knew she went to church, had even gone to a bible college in Florida for a time but I never knew.  She didn’t bring her bible with her to church. When I had cleaned her apartment I found a bible on her bed, near her pillow, I found one in her closet, I found one on the floor near  where her body had been. They were all here, well scribbled in. I felt like a voyeur. No wonder she wanted her pens. No wonder. It was her connection to…..God. And the stereo system? She had bible tapes that she wanted to listen to, why hadn’t she told me? Would I have gotten the roach motel system she left behind, probably not. How could I have known she would die without it?

Those boxes contained her most valued possessions. Her privately annotated bibles, her note cards, her memories of her grandmother.  Her life with God.  Why is it you don’t really get to understand people until after they’re gone and you go through their belongings, their very personal belongings?  There is some peace in reading her bibles but I wish she was here with me still and I didn’t have to learn these things as an afterthought. And I have the picture of us from Ash Wednesday, taken just weeks before she left earth, the last pictures I’ll ever be able to take of her and I’m so happy I still have them.  I’m counting the days till I get to see her again and believe me, they are passing very slowly.

Lesson learned? Everyone knows this lesson. Treat everyone like you’ll never see them again and the world will be a happier place. No one really applies this lesson till they lose someone close. It’s at that time you learn all about them, going through their treasures, listening to eulogies, and getting messages and phone calls from friends. It’s also after a loss the self-recriminations start. What could I have done differently? Lots. Too late now.  I can hardly wait to see her again to apologize, though in that new world I trust apologies will be antiquated.  We just never know.

 

what the egyptians got right

What the Egyptians got right

 

I went to see the Omni presentation of “Mummies: secrets of the Pharaoh’s” recently and was surprised to see how much they got right about the future. The ancient Egyptians believed there was an afterlife that would unite them with their bodies someday (if not nightly) so they took immeasurable care in preserving their bodies and internal organs; separate jars for liver, lungs, intestines and stomach. The heart was left in situ because that would be weighed for judgment in the afterlife.  The exception was their brains which they didn’t consider important, and for some of us that is absolutely true; not to be judgmental or anything. The pharaohs believed they would spend time with Ra following him around doing his duties, still acting powerful and deity-like but commoners were sent to a separate less comfortable existence.

The Omni presentation even showed the mummy of Ramses, presumably the pharaoh that went head on with Charlton Heston, I mean, Moses of the book of Exodus fame. Ramses is possibly  the only biblical character we have a visual of. That was awesome, to see the face of the man that battled with God and had seen the face of Moses, who had seen God. Well Exodus 33:11-23 says he had seen God’s back side, anyway, that’s more than we’ve seen. I have witnessed his miracles and sensed his presence, but I’ve not been on a mountain while God passed over to let me see his glory. That was Moses gift alone.

Over time, from the elite to the lower classes, mummification eventually became the norm. The preservation of bodies was discovered by unearthed corpses that had been buried and found in the desert soil that had never decayed due to the dehydrating nature of the local sands combined with the bacterial killing properties of the environment which halted natural rotting. Yet, the rich Egyptians paid in advance for a 70 day mummification process and well stocked burials while the common man was just put in a hole in the ground with a few meager processions and achieved the same effect albeit without an elaborate tomb warehouse since the affluent not only preserved their bodies they built extravagant tombs expecting to wake up in the realm of Osiris well supplied. In their eternal resting place they stored food, gold, furniture, statues, seeds to plant for more food, personal grooming items, and clothes. The list goes on and varied with each person. Eternal resting places, that is, until discovered by looters, apparently even then the prosperous dead were victims of criminal activity. No amount of curses or magical incantations could prevent theft at that time anymore that security alarms today can.

I also believe in an afterlife where we go and reside with a God (The God, actually) and become kings, queens and priests, Rev 1:6. I don’t need to have my physical heart examined or weighed for entrance, as Jesus took care of my admission into heaven by shedding his blood for me, Romans 3:21-26. However, my spiritual heart will be judged, Romans 10: 9-13.  I also believe, like the Egyptians, we’ll  be reconnected to our bodies again but no  matter  what state they were left in here on earth; mummified, burnt, eaten by wildlife, or naturally disintegrated; Job 19:26-27, 1 Corinthians 15:35-49 (one of my personal favorite scriptures). I’m also pleased to know that when I die and God reconnects me to my restored celestial body I don’t have to worry about housing arrangements because he’s there now constructing my living space, John 14: 1-4 (another one of my personal favorites). Food will be abundant, Rev 19:9, and we’ll be well dressed, Rev 19:8 in clothes provided for us in advance. There will be no caste system; the poor and well-off will enter through the same gates. I don’t need to stock pile accessories that can be stolen (Luke 12:32-34) because my God is clearly more capable of meeting all my needs than Ra was for the Egyptians. My needs, not my wants. That isn’t even true, because all I want is to bow before God in thanksgiving and see Jesus on his right hand side before I search eternity’s sector for my relatives and meet all the heroes of old and hear their wonderful testimonies. Amen and Alleluia.

So even though the Egyptians got the after life scenario right;resurrection of body and heavenly existence, they just put their eggs in the wrong basket, faith in the wrong deity, bodies in the wrong sarcophagus.

 

religious artwork

RELIGIOUS ARTWORK

The Wari’s, Lords of the Ancient Andes, must have been very religious, I reflected as I wandered through the art exhibit at the Kimbell’s museum in Fort Worth. Most of the ceramics, and textiles on display had a staff deity in some form positioned prominently and elaborately on their surfaces. There were cups, urns and assorted pottery with creative and colorful depictions of various forms of the staff deity and his companions. The deity was woven into tunics and gloves. Art work on ear ornaments also displayed the deity’s image. There were mirrors with the deity’s likeness on the backside filled in with shells, and precious stones. Very pretty, and I’m sure they were sold, custom made,  at the local Niemen Marcus , not  massed produced for the local Wal-Marts. There were even little table top representations also painstakingly made of wood, stone and precious shells and gems.  Pocket sized jade figurines were also present to carry with them. Yes, the Wari were reminded of one or another of their deities at every turn. They must have really honored and revered him/them.

I wondered, as I moseyed through the museum, how the generations a thousand years from now would view our religious beliefs when they stumbled on a treasure of our art work they unearthed in some cave or unexpectantly abandoned city destroyed by nuclear warfare, tsunami , earthquake, comet or some other  unknown catastrophe.

When they excavate our pottery, dinnerware, cloths, purses and jewelry would they get a grasp of our deep faith? Would they get the correct impression of us? When I go the mall, department store, Family dollar, on line shopping or craft shows I see many objects with evidence of our convictions. Blankets, purses, necklaces, baseball caps, statues ect. with crosses emblazoned on them. Not just crosses, the blessed mother of Jesus is an iron on applique on baseball caps, purses have gem stone crosses fastened to their sides, tall candles have glued on glittery haloed Jesus’.  At cemeteries how many corpses would they disentomb to discover smothered with otherworldly tattoos and say to themselves, “Wow they really loved their God.”

I’m sure they would imagine we were a very devout society based on their archeological finds.  But I live in the here and now and when I see these religious icons I don’t feel our connection with God. I feel like the massed produced art work is just that and nothing more.  I don’t think the Blessed Mother is honored having her image on a baseball cap of all things.  I see crosses hanging from review mirrors right next to big square fuzzy dice balls. I see cross jewelry on drug dealers, drug addicts, thieves, prostitutes who still live the life style, unrepentantly. Heck my favorite critical opinions are of Madonna and her crosses. It’s not my job to be anyone’s judge, I can’t read the hearts of these people and I can’t always control my own, but I am entitled to discernment.  We’re supposed to draw some conclusions to be able to avoid being corrupted by bad influences, to eschew wolves in sheep’s clothing.

 I think we’ve taken the sacred and downsized it to common everyday artwork.  Our minds have become desensitized to the consecrated message of the cross, that it was the execution device of our Lord and Savior, our sacrificial lamb, that it was the plus sign that adds believers to Jesus’s family. It’s now just something to adorn with diamonds and sapphires. Familiarity breeds contempt. Wearing a cross doesn’t make us sanctified any more than wearing a fur coat makes us a mink.
 

Based on the reality of our artwork is it possible that maybe we’re wrong about the Wari, Lords of the Andes and their dedication to the staff deity?   Maybe to the ancient artisans of that time it was just something to fill their coffers with as it is today for some and also was in the Apostle Paul’s time, who lived just a thousand years earlier than the Wari on another continent.  In the city of Ephesus Paul and his coworkers were nearly killed when Demetrius, a silver smith who made shrines for the Goddess Diana, admitted that the worship of Diana hadn’t hurt his retirement account any and was threatened by Paul and his traveling companions as they preached Jesus and turned some of the populace away from Diana and hence the Ephesian economy.

Don’t get me wrong, I do believe in the cross and own a few, a very few, myself, but we must be careful to not take the cross and its message for granted for the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing but to us who are saved it is the power of God. I hope that when my home is quarried by archaeologists generations from now I leave the correct impression of my religious believes.
 

Math. 10:16

Acts 19:23-27

Hebrews 5:14

1 corinthians  5:5-12

1 Corinthians 1:18-25

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

ancestors

 

 

monday, September 23, 2013

ancestors

  I looked intensely into the eyes of strangers in my stack of old black and white photos hoping to read the minds of the subjects.  These were photographs of people long gone. Long gone before I was born, heck, most had been gone before my parents were even born.  Yet here was proof that they had once lived, had breathed,  and had at one time stood or sat in front of a camera to preserve their images. These strangers were related to me,  making them relative strangers,  without their existence I wouldn’t be here, or at the least would be a very different person.

My Aunt Dot had given the pictures to me, when she had downsized her possessions to move to a retirement center because I was presently diving into the family history, trying to lengthen the family tree. I had started off with a seed, then a trunk, now I had a few branches. The search had begun because my dad wanted to find out about his great grandfather John, a civil war veteran who had fought for the north and died in 1876. Though we don’t have a picture of him Dad had had his sword once.  I remember it used to be kept in the hall closet, now it’s in my brother’s possession. However, I have the picture of my Great Great Granddad John’s, wife, Abigail, who died in 1910.

Dad and I had left Texas in the late 1990’s for a week and gone to their burial site in New England. Though the graveyard was well kept, Dad had surmised that no one had visited these particular relatives’ graves in decades. Some of their adult children were buried near them in unmarked graves because of financial limitations. How sad.  Once gone it’s not long before you’re forgotten. I was actually surprised the cemetery was still alive, excuse the pun. I had expected it to be some frowzy plot off the freeway run over with weeds and wild trees reserved for civil war burials but it was a tidy, growing necropolis. It had taken quite a bit of time to locate dear departed Grandparents John and  Abigail Pierce and family.

I looked again into the eyes of my great grandmother, Estelle.  I had some of her jewelry given to me by my aunt. I had worn one of her  simple diamond rings when dad and I had gone cemetery hopping up north. She was buried near her husband, Willard Pierce, who my dad was named after, son of the afore mentioned John  and some other relatives I had never meant but whose pictures were part of my acquired stack of photos.  It was really erie to see my very much alive dad standing next to a tombstone with his name on it and date of death in 1935. Dad had hinted I take grandma Estelle’s diamond ring and bury it in the top soil over her grave so she could have it back. I ignored him as though he hadn’t uttered a word hoping he had been joking, but not convinced that was the case.

Then there was the picture of of a man I knew as—get  ready for this—my  grandma Pierce’s mother’s husband’s father, or Great Great Grand Daddy Thompson. It was an old faded photo taken in Belfast Ireland of a man wearing a leprechaun styled hat, a fringe of hair (that I imagined was red) outlining  his jaw, long sideburns and a very serious expression as though smiling would hurt more than child birth. The back of the photo discloses the name and address of the studio that captured his image on paper, or cardboard or whatever. I googled them to see if I could order more copies but they no longer exist. Imagine that. Business must not have been very good.

The reason I had gathered my dearly but not recently departed  family of strangers together on this day was so I could take them to the post office’s coping machine to reproduce them for my cousin, who I’ve never met face to face but have shared many phone calls comparing our genealogical research efforts. 

Once inside the post office I was badly shaken when I discovered Grand Daddy Thompson wasn’t with us anymore,(yes I know he’s been  dead for decades,  I mean his picture was gone!) I retraced my steps, several times, in my search for him. I even asked the postal workers , a few hours into the search, if he had come into their custody some how by a good Samaritan who might have found him lying around the parking lot, but no such luck. I had lost Great, Great grand daddy Thompson. After years and I do  mean years of being safely kept in the family archives he was now a missing person, er, a missing flat cardboard representation anyway . I only had my unreliable memory to remember him by and God only knew how long that would last.

I punished myself emotionally to the point of physical illness, over and over again for having been so undependable, afraid to ever face my aunt again. My Aunt Dot, by the way was now in the company of Grandmas Estelle and Abigail, and Grandpas John and Thompson , but as formidable as she was in life I still feared her reaction in the hereafter.  Was she sitting next to Great, Great Grand Daddy shaking her head and tsking me, saying “I know I should have know better, She’d loose her head if it wasn’t attached?”  I couldn’t even bring myself to disclose the truth to my father for dread of seeing  the disappointment in his eyes.

I emphatically believe in hauntings now because I was haunted for months with unprofitable notions on where the picture might have slipped, like for example into some odd crevice, or under some piece of furniture, or stuck behind one of the other pictures waiting to pop up and yell BOO.

Months later after I reconciled myself to the obvious, Grand Daddy Thompson was MIA, I had to make another rare stop at the post office, my first visit since my lamentable loss. Standing in line waiting to get to the service desk I occupied myself with mindless daydreaming to divert memories of my deplorable ineptitude preserving the family’s memorabilia given to me in sacred trust.

I looked at the line still ahead of me, at the clerks at work at the desk, and then my eyes drifted upwards to the shelves on the wall behind the workers. Without warning my right arm shot up, my index finger pointed out stiff and straight and a bellow erupted from my lips, “That’s my Grand Daddy Thompson!”

 I stood spell bound for a second hoping no one had noticed me. Not realistic, no way in hell had that eruption slipped by unnoticed, (excuse my language but that phrase captures the moment better than anything). Transactions halted while everyone present in the range of my vocalization stopped chattering and centered their attention on me, some even pulled young children closer for fear I might be dangerous. I slowly lowered my arm and tried to look just as curious as they were about who had screamed out like that. Nope. They knew it had been me.

Taking a deep breath and trying to recoup some dignity I explained that I had been looking for that picture for months. I was waved on to the head of the line where one of the clerks explained that and old lady had found the picture lying in the parking lot months ago on her way back to her car. When she brought it back in a week later one of the clerks remembered a panicky middle aged woman inquiring about so he and placed it on public display hoping she (I) would return to claim it. I explained the middle aged woman must have been my mother. Yeah, that was a flat out lie alright, since she also was with my Aunt Dot.

I was so unquestionably relieved to be reunited with Grand Daddy Thompson I forgot my business with the post office and rushed home to rejoin him with his family. 

Now what was the purpose of this story? Glad you asked. It struck me that someday in the future I dream of being in another line far, far away in different dimension. A line of people, uncountable in number,  now conquerors, flowing through a dozen gigantic pearl entrances all streaming towards a radiant figure greater than any super hero, sportsman or celebrity we’ve ever known, seated in an enormous throne grander than any  earthly king’s that has ever lived.  Another man I had been searching  for, but  who had actually found me when I was lost. A man whose picture I didn't possess but who  I would recognize without problem. At that time I will shoot out my right arm, point my index finger and bellow, “That’s Jesus, my Lord and Savior!” without being noticed by anyone else because we’ll all be unified in our outbursts of praise and gratitude.  And then, probably after fleeting millennia spent praising our Redeemer, I would hook up with the souls that had belonged to the pictures my Aunt Dot had entrusted to my care. And no, I would no longer be fearful of my Aunt’s formidableness. (I hope)