Braves Win, Diggers and Grandsons
Some people visit the cemetery, stand by the markers, and remember their loved ones. I don't. My dad died in 2017 and I've only been by his grave once.
It's not just my dad. I've been that way about all of my loved ones who have passed away. For whatever reason I don't feel the same connection with friends and family that others do in cemeteries.
Maybe it's because of all of the funerals I've done in 30 years of ministry. I don't know. But a cemetery seems more like a marker to me than a memory. A marker is like a card catalog in a library - it's just the record, not the book.
I had rather drive by Mamaw's house. There my mind is flooded with memories. The grave of Ernie Carver means very little to me, but seeing an El Camino on the road, passing through Huntsville, or listening to Dawes makes me remember one of my favorite uncles.
I know where Roy is buried. But I had rather catch a bass and remember that time he set the hook so hard that he pulled a fish out of the water that I can still hear it slap against the side of the boat. I can smell those cigarette/cigar things he smoked and I can hear him laugh.
The cemetery does nothing for me. It's just lifeless stones. Catching a bass or passing through Crossville, TN makes me laugh . . . and remember.
That's what going to the Braves game has become for me. I enjoy the game but I remember my dad. It was especially true this weekend as the Friday night fireworks show erupted post-game.
Dad loved to take a trip to Fulton County Stadium on July 4 to see the Braves and watch the fireworks. We would stay at either my aunt JoAnn's apartment or at the HoJo down the street from the stadium. Either way, they had a pool and that was cool!
This weekend was August something, not July 4. But apparently now with the Braves fireworks is a Friday game thing. But nevertheless, it made me smile and think about my dad.
By the way dad . . . the Braves are pretty good this year.
That night we stayed with my daughter and her husband. They live about 20 miles from the stadium. So that meant breakfast with them and Lil' E, my grandson, the next morning.
They took us to a great place. The food was really good. But the best part was the heavy equipment working out front to widen the highway. Lil' E was mesmerized.
"Beep, beep, truck," he would say as he watched with awe.
He has plenty of trucks in his playroom, but to see the real thing amazed him.
He loved watching the trucks. And I loved watching him. Amazing. I am in awe of God's gift of a grandson.
I don't want to be remembered with a marker. I had rather it be something you hear in a sermon. My grandson seeing "diggers" and trucks beside the road or a Braves win. I had rather fireworks make you smile or there be something like a passing El Camino or a song on the radio remind you of me; much like those things remind me of Uncle Ernie or Roy.
It was a great weekend.
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