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October 05, 2026
As we get older, we naturally become a little more nostalgic.
When I was a teenager, I had an aunt who was deeply into family genealogy. At the time, I thought all that old family history stuff was kind of silly. But after my father and my aunt passed away, I sat down with my uncle, who was nearly 100 years old at the time, to ask about our family history. My father had always told a wild, dramatic story about how my grandfather was struck and killed by a car in downtown Birmingham. But when I asked my uncle for his recollection of his passing, he paused for a long time and simply said, “I don’t remember.”
That conversation reminded me why preserving our history matters. Without written records and shared stories, the details of our lives quietly slip away.
Recently, I had lunch with a friend I’ve known since junior high. As old friends do, we spent the afternoon laughing and reminiscing. Somehow, the topic of hairstyles came up, and I remembered just how long my hair was back in my seminary days. Not only was my hair long and wavy, but I also had a mustache. When I started my residency as a hospital chaplain, while the new medical residents submitted nice, professional headshots, my photo looked like it was taken in a roller-rink photo booth, complete with long hair and a Kawasaki motorcycle t-shirt.
After lunch, I dug around in my basement and found an old photo of my long-haired days from a church youth conference. In it, I’m standing in front of the ministry van I drove, wearing faded blue jeans, a cheap Kmart t-shirt, a gold watch, and sandals made out of old tires.
I’m glad I saved that old photo. Finding it was a wonderful catalyst to remember more, including the last time I wore those old tire sandals. Looking at the photo made me smile, and it also made me reflect. Those worn-out sandals, cheap t-shirts, and long seminary locks represent a season where God was quietly shaping me for ministry. The photo was a reminder of God’s patience and presence across all seasons of life.
Memories are precious, and not just because they make us laugh. When we take time to look back at the colorful chapters of our past, we see the steady thread of God’s grace that has carried us all the way to today.
Where have you seen the quiet evidence of God’s guiding hand? What photo lifts a memory to mind that illustrates just how faithfully God has walked with you through every chapter?
I’m grateful for the memories, the laughter, and most especially, the journey.
Peace,
Cary
