Family Stories

It's been well over 50 years since my dad died.  I was only 3 years old; my brother 17 months.  My dad and mom had been married for less than five years.  She died 25 years later.  My three children never knew their grandfather--or their grandmother--except for the few stories I was able to share.

But last week my youngest daughter called home, and with the kind of excitement only Naomi can convey, she recounted for me several stories about my dad, and his days as a teacher and principal!  Naomi is a funeral director in a small Ontario town about 5 hours away from the community where my dad lived and worked.  But when she was helping a family who come from the same area as me (and with the same last name), and asked if they were related in any way to us, she got far more than she bargained for.

"Yes," they told her, "somehow we are distantly related."

But even better than that, a family member had been a student at the school where my dad taught, and sixty years later she remembered him well, as well as her time with him in the classroom, and was able to share those memories with my daughter.

"He was firm but kind," she told Naomi, "and he was pretty religious."  (Now I'm not too sure about THAT part, but it's probably not totally incorrect either!)  And then she went on to tell some stories of students' antics and my dad's reactions.

I'm excited about finding out more about this family connection--and more about my dad.  I have only a few vague memories of him, and even all these years after his death, would love to get to know him better.

And, I wonder:  is this something of what we talk about when we talk about resurrection?  Is this my dad coming back to life in ways we could never have imagined?  Are the memories of him and his life bringing new life to us?

We will never fully understand death, and life beyond death, until we are there to experience it.  But maybe--just maybe--we get a glance at it in the excitement and new vitality we find in a young woman, invigorated by time spent with someone who knew our loved-one.  Maybe--like the green shoots in the hard, cold soil--new life comes with warmth; the warmth of stories told and a loved-one remembered.  After all, isn't what has happened with Jesus, and his millions of faithful followers over the centuries?