A brand new month. It’s true that February is a short month but it is packed full of special days. Birthdays of Presidents and family members, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day and, of course, Groundhog Day, which is tomorrow. I’m not a big fan of groundhogs but I’ll tell you more about that tomorrow.
It’s kind of nice to think of a new month as a fresh sheet on the calendar of life and to determine to fill each day with good things. What if we all made a vow to be sure that when we look back at February, we’d have a feeling of accomplishment and gratitude? What if we determined to be a little extra kind, use only uplifting words, and speak to others in gentle tones? What if we decided to hold fast to the truths found in the Bible and let those trusted words be our answer to dilemmas? By the end of the month, would we have a better, more hopeful world?
This morning I read that the remains of an ancient port and barracks has recently been uncovered near the Great Pyramids in Egypt. Now archaeologists are looking at the remnants of what was once everyday life for people who lived about 4,500 years ago.Was there a writer among them? If so, would a fragment of a journal or a letter still exist? Probably not,but it would be a tremendous find, wouldn’t it? In another five thousand or more years, if future archaeologists uncover the remains of our civilization, what conclusions will they draw? Will they find clues as to what we hold important now?
In a much shorter time span, I like to imagine what life might have been like for my ancestors several centuries ago. I like to close my eyes and see an Irish cottage with a thatched roof, shadows caused by a peat fire dancing off the walls. I hear words spoken with an Irish brogue as my long-ago family gathered for supper at the end of the day. Or, I like to switch to the southeast United States and enter the round house of my Cherokee ancestors, smell the wood smoke, watch as the family gathers back home after a day of hunting or harvesting vegetables.
Those times that we can only read about or imagine, were the daily lives of people who lived, had hopes and dreams, worked, loved, dealt with frustrations. Now they are all gone and we catch only glimpses of their lives. I guess that what I’m trying to say is life is fleeting at best. I have been given a new day and a new month. Centuries from now, probably archaeologists will not be able to find even a trace of my life and that’s fine with me. The only imprint I’d like to leave is in the hearts of those who know me now and I’d like that imprint to be a good one. Writers have a special privilege and a special responsibility to, through the written word, make impressions on people we never meet. Will a remnant of The Cemetery Club or Grave Shift or Best Left Buried survive through the centuries? What conclusions would future archaeologists draw from reading a bit of a cozy mystery? Intriguing thought.
I’m not too concerned about those hazy, far-off “What-ifs”. I’m more concerned with the here and now and making sure each new day is a future good memory. That’s my February prayer.
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