Just a few weeks ago I got a call that the house I was born in and grew up in had burned down to the ground. It was a complete shock to me. So many memories were made in that old house.

I remember playing cowboys and Indians with my cousins outside for hours. I made mud pies alongside of the house with my sisters. Memories of playing marbles and playing jacks flash through my mind.

In those day we had fun just making up things to do. Once we played around a propane tank and when we raised the lid a bunch of wasps flew out and started stinging us. Well my Aunt Nannie took out of her mouth the most ugliest brown mess you ever saw, slapped it on our stings and the stings went away. That yucky mess was called chewing tobacco!

My most important memories are the strong values I learned from my parents. They taught us about God, having Jesus as your Savior, that a man’s word was very important, and a handshake was like a contract. A lot of hard work, blood, sweat and tears were shed in that old house.

I recall other precious memories from my childhood. My dad and mom had 6 children who lived (one died at an early age) and several babies that she miscarried. I remember coming home from school and often she would be praying on the porch. My mother was a strong Godly woman, who believed in the power of prayer.

My dad was a Pentecostal Preacher. He loved to study the Word and wore out many bibles. We went to church on Sunday dressed in our best. Mother was always dressed so pretty in her dress with her bonnet on and white gloves. My dad always looked so handsome in his suit.

Whenever we would have revival and the power of God would come down, the people would gather from everywhere. I remember my mother shouting around an old pot-belly stove with her eyes closed and I would be scared to death. You could see the fire from the stove from the outside because it was so hot. Time was not even a question; you stayed and prayed for the people no matter how long it took.

If the people couldn’t get inside the church because of the crowd, they would lean through the open windows just to hear my dad preach. My dad would preach hell-fire and brimstone and conviction and judgment would fall upon those within earshot. I mean, if you even had a bad thought in your head, you would run to the altar! Many times people would leave the church after the service and go to our house. They would continue to pray long into the night. People knew everyone and you were all family.

Times have changed and the world is different now. In today’s churches half the people don’t even know each other — certainly not the Pastor. If anything tragic happens to you no one may even know of it or even call. And sadly most of us don’t even know our neighbors.

My dad was also a farmer and he planted cotton and other crops. One year he had planted cotton and there was a damaging storm that came through and wiped out the cotton. It was bad because this was the only source of income my folk’s had. They didn’t even keep insurance for the farm because it was so costly.

My dad knew he had to get alone with God to get an answer on what to do. So whenever he needed to seek God, he would go out in the field called “the 40” which meant 40 acres. Dad would stay ‘til he heard from God regardless of how long it took. Then he would come home and say “Everything is going to be okay”, because he had heard from God and he knew that he knew. Dad didn’t take any money from the church because the money that came in was not enough to pay a preacher and also pay the church’s bills.

My folks worked hard trying to provide a living. They would work in the fields from early morning to late evening. All of us kids went right along with them. You didn’t hire baby sitters in those day – the kids went to the fields with you. Whether it was time for breakfast, lunch or dinner, you always ate together at every meal. You ate whatever my mother fixed and we always said grace.

What’s that saying? “A family that prays together stays together.”

As I ponder these childhood memories from that house that used to be, I hope and pray that I have instilled into my family the lasting values and importance of prayer. Knowing Jesus is the most important thing you will ever have. It’s eternal. It’s everlasting.

My fondest memories are the times my dad and mother would pray together with us kids and read the Word of God.

“But with everlasting love I will have compassion on you, says the Lord, your Redeemer.” Isaiah 54:8

“There is but one God, one Everlasting God. From everlasting to everlasting, thou art God. No one else can lay claim to His property — eternity. The gods of the heathen cannot lay claim to it. But for those who choose to follow Jesus, a glorious eternity awaits. And God will open wide the gates of heaven for you to enter into the eternal Kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” 2 Peter 1:11

If the Lord tarries and it is your turn to enter Eternity I pray that you will leave precious memories for your loved ones. I pray that the most lasting memory of you will be that you lived your life for God.

The world around us continues to change and grows darker as time draws us closer to the Lord’s return. And, yes, my childhood house no longer exists and has burned to the ground. But, the memories of my family and the eternal things I learned from my wonderful parents remain forever.

Precious memories….