My Earliest Memory

                                               

   
                                                  Everyday is a brand new day,
                                                       everyday is a journey.

The three small children ran through the farm fields, happily laughing, their blond hair glistening in the Summer sunshine. All around them the golden rods of wheat swayed gently amidst the breeze of the day. 

That's my earliest memory of my brothers and I. How old were we? I'm not sure, but I had to be younger than seven. That's how old I was when we arrived in the United States. You see, that memory was of a time in Poland where we lived on a farm.

Why that scene has been etched in my mind, I can only speculate on it's meaning. It could be the freedom as children we experienced. The only responsibility we had was to keep our rooms clean, respect our parents and do our homework. We were together, often bickering about who's turn it was to do a particular chore. That's the life of a child.

I wish I could say I had the same problems now, but of course, that would be more of a fantasy than reality. As we grow older, so do our problems. I've been thinking so much of the past lately and I know it has to do with my grandmother Bernice dying. 

Death. . . that's not a new experience for me. Having cancer has often brought up that possibility. It's not the first or the last time I will think about it. Although, I have to say, it feels a little different this time. My main concern is not really the losing of a close loved one as much as being in eternity together. I want to spend eternity with all the people I love, admire and respect. I worry about their salvation. It's so important to see them there. 

Have a blessed day everyone.