Nothing stirs up memories like a death. This month, I lost my last remaining uncle. We were blessed to enjoy his life for ninety-three years. A lot of memories can be gathered in that amount of time. He and I shared a love of writing, and even though we lived states apart, we stayed connected through that common interest and our love for family.

The week he passed, I thought a lot about the memories I had formed with Uncle Wendell. One of the first I remember was when I was four years old. Because my dad owned a stock truck, Mom and Dad helped Uncle Wendell and Aunt LeVila move from Nebraska to Wisconsin. I perched between my parents on a big black case. From there, I could see out the windshield and through the smaller window behind me, where I could keep an eye on all my aunt and uncle’s belongings. It was my job to holler if anything tumbled out. But that wasn’t always enough to keep me from being bored. When my parents grew tired of containing an antsy four-year-old in those cramped quarters, I was allowed (or pushed off) to ride with my aunt and uncle. To me, that seemed like a real treat.

A warning popped up on my phone, interrupting my pleasant memory of riding with Uncle Wendell and Aunt LeVila. “Your Voicemail folder is nearly full,” it read. I began going through the messages and deleting most of them. Then one from a close friend appeared. He had sent it on April 4, 2025, hoping to reach me about some banking business. I knew it would stir up emotions if I listened to it, but I wanted to hear his voice again.

A lump formed in my throat as he spoke. As I continued listening, I wanted so badly to believe he was still here with us. For those few brief seconds, I was saddened by my loss. Thankfully, I didn’t linger long on that sorrowful note, as pleasant memories soon began crowding out the sadness. Our families had shared so many wonderful times together!

Dr. Seuss once said, “Sometimes you never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.” I look back on all the great moments I shared with my uncle and my friend—moments I never gave much thought to when they happened—and now they mean so much.

I’m convinced that memories are one of the greatest gifts God has given us. What else would allow us to live a wonderful moment one thousand times over? A picture can help, but it captures only a visual image. Memory digs deep into our minds and can envelop all the senses. For instance, some of my most cherished memories of my grandmother are the smell of her soap and the sound of her playing the piano.

We know that God considered memory important; otherwise, words such as “memory,” “remember,” “recall,” “remembrance,” and “do not forget” would not appear some 1,200 times throughout Scripture.

I may not recall things as quickly as I once did, but I’m grateful for the things I do remember. It’s a great day when special moments from the past are brought to the forefront of our minds and we get to relive them once again.

Until next time… keep on readin’, and I’ll keep on writin’.