My dad kept photo albums. I loved looking through them, always looking, of course, for my own face, but thoroughly excited to see other familiar faces. They serve as a record of souls long gone, some of those faces I recall, and others only their affiliation with my family. They witness that we went places, did things, visited people. They help me to remember.
All my albums are happy places for me. One for each of my kids, one of when Kev and I were young and just the two of us, some of my childhood, and some from just the last few years. All are welcome, and all are friends, markers of days that will live on in grateful memory.
Thank You, Lord, for these volumes of remembrance.
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