Somewhere in our distant memory we develop a picture of our childhood. This portrait is painted with the loveliness of youth and the longing for of years gone by. We were joyful, vibrant children with nothing to do but enjoy the fruits of innocence. We do not recall the broken bones or chicken pox we endured. Gone forever are the tragedies we may have faced. This is the true nature of our selective memories, always constructing things a little bigger and better than they were, leaving behind any pain.
So often I hear about the old timers, how they lived in a better day. Then I see photographs of bent over working men and of women aged with worry and eyes that haunt the soul. Along side them were dirty faced children bred into this world for chopping cotton or turning earth.
I can’t help but see these things and look at my own life and believe that perhaps the good ole days were not always good. The one glaring difference I find between these that passed before and myself is that, even while I am blessed with abundance, they had a faith in God that makes me ashamed of myself. Perhaps their faith is the reason that we have the better life today. As I look to my own faith and dedication to Christ, I can’t help but wonder how long I will continue to live off the fruits of a generation gone by. No wonder the apostles petitioned Jesus, ” Lord, increase our faith”.