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Updated on Wednesday:
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This is a season for calendars. It starts even before
the old year is over.
Some come in the mail, some are distributed by a
restaurant, a bank, your church, a hardware store and other places. Some
are pocket size, some are big for the wall, some have beautiful photos,
some have recipes and household hints, and some have scriptures.
As you take down the old, you look over the past year
and almost hate to part with it. It is not the printed information found
there, but the scribbled information that grabs your heart.
Some of the spaces are crammed with appointments and
reminders. Others have childish hints and reminders, “Today is my
birthday!”
If yours is like mine, it is showing lots of white outs,
erasures, fingerprints and smears.
Yet, it is a precious document of living. In those
little squares are all the things that mattered, the occasions eagerly
anticipated: the parties, the dances, the trips. The contests and
football games that ended in triumph or defeat. The hopes, the
disappointments, the tragedies are finished now, over--only a few of
them remain alive in our memory.
As I look over the new one, so bright, clean and
unmarked, I wonder, “What record will be written there before another
year has passed? What events to look forward to? What trivial tasks,
what joys, what sorrows?”
The calendar that hangs in our home is much more than a
chart of dates . . . It is our family’s history.
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This Week's Editorial:By Helen Morris:
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