T.S. Eliot, writing in The Waste Land, penned the words, “April is the cruelest month.” In the years since then, there have been many paraphrases and most of them have identified November as “the cruelest month”. In a way I agree, but not completely.
I have found over the years that November, more than any other month, is a mixture of laughter and tears, joy and sadness, bleakness and sunshine, and yes even new growth mixed in with the decay.
The first time I realized the specialness of the eleventh month of the year was in 1963 when Milan and I chose the 16th day for our wedding.
But it was only one year and one week later, in November 1964, that I realized how cruel and cold November could be when my youngest sister, Kay Rowden, died in a car crash out on East Highway 32, a road long known for its own brand of cruelty, with the curves and washboard hills taking their toll on many a car over the years. Kay was 16, and a junior at LHS. Her best friend, Beverly Cole, survived the wreck only to die a few days later from her injuries.
But even in the midst of our tears, my family rejoiced as my other sister gave birth to her first child that very night.
There was another joyous November in 1996 when my daughter called me with the news that she was going to marry the man of her dreams, as well as ours, on the 16th and they would be sharing our anniversary.
In my career in pastoral ministry, my first Sunday as the new pastor of the First Church of God in Farmington was November 7, 1993. My first Sunday as the pastor of the new congregation we called the Oakland Heritage Church of God was November 1, 1999.
So it’s no wonder that November always inspires me to reflect on the moments of my life. My days on this earth have now surpassed 25,500 and I look back wondering what, if anything, I have achieved. Money and fame have certainly eluded me, but I am rich in the things that matter. Family and friends, home and church, that’s what it's all about.
I collect quotes like some people collect butterflies, and one of my favorites is “Life is not measured by the number of breaths that you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
Gloria Gaither, gospel music lyricist, has crafted these profound words: “ We have this moment to hold in our hands, and to catch as it sifts through our fingers like sand. Yesterday’s gone and tomorrow may never come, but we have this moment today.”
Some of the moments that take my breath away include watching the beauty of the trees lining the streets of Lebanon as one season transitions into another. The small buds that appear in early spring soon give way to the most verdant and lush canopies of summer with their velvet textures and emerald extravagance.
But my favorites are the fall colors. The hickory tree on the south side of our house literally glows with golden foliage through the October days until the branches slowly let go and the leaves fall. In spring and summer we think it’s all about the leaves but after they are gone we can see what the real strength of the tree was and how its character remains after the leaves have fallen.
This always reminds me that no matter how we dress ourselves up, we must have character and strength holding us up and providing a foundation and support for our lives because the time will come when the leaves will fall and all we will have left is the structure of our lives as we have built upon it through the years, spreading our roots out, growing deeper until not even the strongest winds can shake us.
It was in reflecting on the past and remembering how bad things were that first winter on the cold New England shore that caused the pilgrims to want to hold a thanksgiving feast to show their gratitude to their Maker for His blessings upon them. And with gratitude came the desire to share their blessings. That’s what Thanksgiving is about.
Several years ago the house of a dear friend was destroyed by fire out in the country. As the family began to salvage what they could and hunt for treasures with which they had grown up, they were saddened to realize that everything seemed to have been lost in the fire. But then the siblings began to share their memories of certain items their mother had given each of them over the years, and one by one the treasures they thought were gone were soon accounted for. And one of the children made the astute observation that “the only things that were saved were things that had been given away”.
I urge you this year to enjoy the Thanksgiving holiday just for what it is, a time to be grateful and a time to share. Don’t let it be just the beginning of the Christmas shopping season, Reflect upon its true meaning.
Reflecting on the past is like looking into a mirror and seeing not ourselves but precious memories. And memories are made to be shared, not just here and now with friends and family, but tell them again and again to your children and grandchildren. The traditions and the memories we have made will die when we do unless we pass them on to the next generation.
Author Jon Mohr wrote these words in 1988: “After all our hopes and dreams have come and gone and our children sift through things we’ve left behind, may the clues that they discover and the memories they uncover become a light that leads them to the road we all must find. Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful.”
T.S. Eliot, writing in The Waste Land, penned the words, “April is the cruelest month.” In the years since then, there have been many paraphrases and most of them have identified November as “the cruelest month”. In a way I agree, but not completely.
I have found over the years that November, more than any other month, is a mixture of laughter and tears, joy and sadness, bleakness and sunshine, and yes even new growth mixed in with the decay.
The first time I realized the specialness of the eleventh month of the year was in 1963 when Milan and I chose the 16th day for our wedding.
But it was only one year and one week later, in November 1964, that I realized how cruel and cold November could be when my youngest sister, Kay Rowden, died in a car crash out on East Highway 32, a road long known for its own brand of cruelty, with the curves and washboard hills taking their toll on many a car over the years. Kay was 16, and a junior at LHS. Her best friend, Beverly Cole, survived the wreck only to die a few days later from her injuries.
But even in the midst of our tears, my family rejoiced as my other sister gave birth to her first child that very night.
There was another joyous November in 1996 when my daughter called me with the news that she was going to marry the man of her dreams, as well as ours, on the 16th and they would be sharing our anniversary.
In my career in pastoral ministry, my first Sunday as the new pastor of the First Church of God in Farmington was November 7, 1993. My first Sunday as the pastor of the new congregation we called the Oakland Heritage Church of God was November 1, 1999.
So it’s no wonder that November always inspires me to reflect on the moments of my life. My days on this earth have now surpassed 25,500 and I look back wondering what, if anything, I have achieved. Money and fame have certainly eluded me, but I am rich in the things that matter. Family and friends, home and church, that’s what it's all about.
I collect quotes like some people collect butterflies, and one of my favorites is “Life is not measured by the number of breaths that you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
Gloria Gaither, gospel music lyricist, has crafted these profound words: “ We have this moment to hold in our hands, and to catch as it sifts through our fingers like sand. Yesterday’s gone and tomorrow may never come, but we have this moment today.”
Some of the moments that take my breath away include watching the beauty of the trees lining the streets of Lebanon as one season transitions into another. The small buds that appear in early spring soon give way to the most verdant and lush canopies of summer with their velvet textures and emerald extravagance.
But my favorites are the fall colors. The hickory tree on the south side of our house literally glows with golden foliage through the October days until the branches slowly let go and the leaves fall. In spring and summer we think it’s all about the leaves but after they are gone we can see what the real strength of the tree was and how its character remains after the leaves have fallen.
This always reminds me that no matter how we dress ourselves up, we must have character and strength holding us up and providing a foundation and support for our lives because the time will come when the leaves will fall and all we will have left is the structure of our lives as we have built upon it through the years, spreading our roots out, growing deeper until not even the strongest winds can shake us.
It was in reflecting on the past and remembering how bad things were that first winter on the cold New England shore that caused the pilgrims to want to hold a thanksgiving feast to show their gratitude to their Maker for His blessings upon them. And with gratitude came the desire to share their blessings. That’s what Thanksgiving is about.
Several years ago the house of a dear friend was destroyed by fire out in the country. As the family began to salvage what they could and hunt for treasures with which they had grown up, they were saddened to realize that everything seemed to have been lost in the fire. But then the siblings began to share their memories of certain items their mother had given each of them over the years, and one by one the treasures they thought were gone were soon accounted for. And one of the children made the astute observation that “the only things that were saved were things that had been given away”.
I urge you this year to enjoy the Thanksgiving holiday just for what it is, a time to be grateful and a time to share. Don’t let it be just the beginning of the Christmas shopping season, Reflect upon its true meaning.
Reflecting on the past is like looking into a mirror and seeing not ourselves but precious memories. And memories are made to be shared, not just here and now with friends and family, but tell them again and again to your children and grandchildren. The traditions and the memories we have made will die when we do unless we pass them on to the next generation.
Author Jon Mohr wrote these words in 1988: “After all our hopes and dreams have come and gone and our children sift through things we’ve left behind, may the clues that they discover and the memories they uncover become a light that leads them to the road we all must find. Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful.”
© Joan Rowden Hart
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