Visiting Dead Relatives
Recently, Nancy and I made a trip back “home.” It was a quick, three-day over-and-back trip. Her reason for going was to attend the memorial service of her cousin and spend some time with her sister whom she’d not seen in five years. While I was hopeful of visiting with my brother-in-law and his family (sister Ruth died six years ago), their absence from home changed those plans. So, I spent the day “visiting dead relatives.”
You might think this a strange way to devote an entire day, accumulating more than two hundred miles of travel within the same county, but it was extremely rewarding! It had been more than a dozen years since I’d stood at my great-great grandfather’s grave (Thomas Sheridan). The tour then found me standing at my great grandfather's grave (Aaron Plumbley Sheridan), then my grandfather and grandmother’s graves (Grandmother was a Sheridan), and then my parent’s graves (dad’s middle name was Sheridan.) Four generations in that family … and now a nephew bears the name Sheridan. Can you imagine what those previous generations could reveal about that valued name? Can you imagine what respect they would demand for the name?
Then the tour took me to the Wolf Creek Cemetery where the beginning of the Davis family rests. Great-grandfather Davis was a doctor and the encouragement that led to my grandfather becoming a doctor, as he died when my grandfather was but eight years old! Imagine the differences in medical practice those two could have discussed, realizing fifty years separated the times of their deaths.
Pennsville is the resting place of my VanFossen family. Most of these were farmers, making their living by using horse teams to care for their land, as they raised dairy cows and small acres of corn and wheat. How fortunate for me to have known several of these from whom now precious memories linger long in my mind! I’d love to share with them how farming has changed, and you no longer need to fork hay into a barn: you can bale it in huge round bales! You no longer need to carry five-gallon cans of milk over a trek of more than a hundred yards and store it in a very cool cellar until the milkman comes. And how I’d like to just sit and listen to Grandpa John and Cousin Myers swap their stories, philosophies, and “tall tales” again!
The women were not exempt from these visits! Several great-aunts on both sides of the family imparted their sweetness, understanding, wisdom, guidance, and love in abundance during my youth. Aunt Edith, Aunt Grace, Aunt Lucy … and I can’t forget Aunt Esther. These all still merit my honor, love, and respect!
But lest you think this ten-hour tour was limited to dead relatives, let me share another part of the day. Morgan County is the resting place of many gospel preachers. What an honor to have sat at the feet of many of these men of God! Resting in a secluded place called Rosseau are the graves of Chester Parsons and his wife Ethel. He preached at the funeral of my grandfather Davis. My dad preached their funerals. I doubt brother Parsons was ever recorded as he preached, but it would be such a blessing to hear him do so!
Throughout the day, there was something immensely more valuable than those brief visits with dead relatives and friends. I inherited several CDs of different gospel preachers with whom I’d shared a close friendship. I say, “shared” for many of these men, though dead, yet speak via the recorded media. Throughout the hours of travel, men like Dee Bowman, Marty Pickup, Ed Harrell, Bob Owen, and others taught me. Their lessons were as fervently presented as though they rode in the passenger seat of the car, with me as their only audience.
I would be remiss if I failed to express the concluding part of this brief visit. Nancy and I attended the place of my obedience to Christ. This has been and shall always remain a valued spot in my world! It was here that the gospel of Christ preached by Dad, with my mother, siblings, and grandmother in attendance, pricked my heart, and having repented of my sins, I confessed Christ as being the only begotten Son of God. Dick Hurst was leading the singing that night, and the song of encouragement was THERE’S AN ALL-SEEING EYE WATCHING YOU. Harmon Thomas assisted in helping me get ready to be immersed. Later, Harmon’s dad, Edwin presented me with a New Testament, signed by each of the three elders: himself, Donald Sands, and Everett Hickerson. I still have it! Only Harmon remains of those men. I remember also that another man, younger than these mentioned, came to me that night and said, “Mike, whatever you are asked to do in the Lord’s service, do it. You may never get another opportunity.” His name was Paul Hickerson. He too is gone.
Dear reader, this was not a sad day at all for me! In fact, I enjoyed that day so much, that its enthusiasm still enthralls me! When the apostle Paul said, “Forgetting those things which are behind …” he wasn’t forbidding the reminiscing of precious lessons and events. He was speaking of dwelling on self-accomplishments. (Phil. 3:13) No, the lessons of yesteryear still teach us if we are willing to listen and learn! (Romans 15:4). The application is within God’s new law – the law of Christ, the New Testament. Dead relatives teach us wonderful things, and dead preachers even more – for the truth of God’s word never dies (Matthew 24:35). That’s a reflective value worth hearing with every mile of every journey!