“Oh, may all who come behind us find us faithful / May the fire of our devotion light their way / May the footprints that we leave lead them to believe,” — Jon Mohr (1988).
Part of what makes unpacking take such a long time is getting drawn into memories. Inscriptions, letters, mementos, photographs.
This one, circa 1993, is a story all by itself. The setting is Gainesville, Florida, outside the home Rebekah’s parents purchased when they retired. The characters, left to right, are as follows:
- Rebekah’s dad, Rev. Robert Alexander.
- Rebekah’s mama, Nell.
- Our daughter, Naomi.
- Rebekah’s grandmother, Mary.
- Our son, Andrew.
It looks like the kind of day where Bob and Nell slowly walk the long loop around the neighborhood, chatting with pretty much everyone they see along the way. Andrew and Naomi will likely push GrandMary along for a while, then grow weary — or irritated with each other — and pass the task off to one of us before running back to the house.
It is a scene that says ‘family’ with a lot of conviction, that evokes GrandMary’s stories, Nell’s biscuits, Bob’s bolo tie (and his tendency to make every encounter a pastoral visit) and Rebekah’s morning coffee with her mama. Our children already know that this does not happen by accident but is grounded in deep faith and unfathomable love and the kind of faithfulness that is rooted in generations.
It wasn’t long before Mary was gone, and Nell too when she was just 73, then Bob at 80 — just two weeks before Naomi’s wedding to Craig launched the beginnings of another generation.
This is what great photographs do; they help to preserve the stories that define us. Naomi’s children are now in family photographs that look a lot like this one — and Andrew’s too. I just pray that the memories our grandchildren find one day (when our picture falls out of some book a few decades into the future) include the same deep faith and unfathomable love and generational faithfulness.
Because stories like this do not happen by accident; they have to be lived.
— DEREK
