Sparrows and Me

Going on a road trip with girlfriends can be a wonderful experience. Don’t get me wrong. I love traveling with my husband too; it’s just that he’s not as into laughing, talking, and taking side trips. Sure, I’ve told him that it’s the journey and not the destination that counts, but he’s a guy, one who’s all about getting there. I say that with love.

So this past weekend I went to Atlanta with some work chums, and we chatted all the way there and all the way back and all times in-between. Before the weekend ended, we had pretty much solved the education and healthcare issues in America (Why don’t the powers-that-be ask us for our opinions?), expressed much consternation over the appalling lack of civility in the United States (witness Joe Wilson’s latest outburst), and shared thoughts and memories about our families.

This morning as I sit waiting for my class to complete a test on D2L, I can imagine Lisa’s grandmother telling her to wash her hair until it squeaked. I used to hear the same thing as a child. I can see Nancy’s father standing on the front porch demanding that she come in the house instead of sitting in the driveway with her sweetie. Martha says her hair is like her mother’s…as are some of her gestures. And yours truly? All this family talk dredged up lots of memories from my past. I used to go to Forest City, NC with my paternal grandparents on a frequent basis, and I can still recall sitting in the back seat of their celery green Chevy and we wound around curvy two-lane roads.

All of the family talk must have still been on my mind Sunday morning. As I sat in Sacrament meeting, the thought occurred to me that only one person in the entire meeting even knew my parents. Only Mrs. C. knew what great people they were, she with her classiness and he with his lovable eccentricities. Saddened, I couldn’t let that thought go. How could it be that people who were so instrumental and influential in my life just pass on, unknown or perhaps forgotten?

After Sacrament, I left the room for a few minutes and was chatting in the hall when Lowrance approached. “I’ve got something I want you to see,” she said. She handed me a small black and white photograph of four young women, all smiling flirtatiously at the camera. From their attire and hairstyles, I could see that it was “vintage,” and Lowrance said that the picture was snapped sometime in the 1940s. “Do you recognize anyone?” she asked. Right away, I saw my aunt Polly smiling up from the foursome, black wavy hair framing her beautiful young face. Turning to Lowrance, I asked, “Did you know my aunt? What about my parents?” It turns out that she did know them, although not that well since my parents and aunt were older than she. Still, she did know them. She had seen them often, and they live in her memory just as they do in mine.

So what’s the point of this rambling post? As I was telling my son Paul about this story yesterday, I had a flash of insight. We’re all familiar with the scripture of God having His eye upon the sparrow, right? And we know that He’s aware of each of us, and that while He might not speak to us in a big booming voice, He is mindful of our needs. It’s often through another person that He makes us aware of His presence in our lives.

Maybe I’m reading too much into this incident, but you’ll never convince me of that. I have a great heritage, and I miss my parents and grandparents…sometimes more than others. Sunday was one of those days, and Lowrance was inspired (I think) to show me a little picture, a picture that brought solace to my soul. My heart too.