Remembering Sir John Crowder

            In 1959, Sir John Crowder retired from serving in the British House of Commons. Beatrice Roberts, the daughter of a local grocer, won his seat. After her election, Crowder was disgusted that a woman was elected to replace him.

            You probably have never heard of Sir John Crowder. You probably have heard of Beatrice Roberts, knowing her better by her first name and her married name–Margaret Thatcher.

            The world has long forgotten Sir John Crowder; the world will long remember Margaret Thatcher.

            As nice as it is to be remembered for the rest of time; it is nicer to be remembered for eternity. Every Christian, even the lowliest one in the eyes of the world, will be remembered by God forever… if his name or her name is written into the Lamb’s book of life.

            Like so many other things, with eternal life… it’s not what you know; it’s who you know.

            Christians have the blessing of knowing Jesus.

Source: Reagan And Thatcher The Difficult Relationship by Richard Aldous

Happy, 80th Birthday, Daddy

            This morning I had my blog post ready to go when it occurred to me, today was my dad’s birthday. He would have turned 80.  This is poignant to me because he was about my age when he died. A lot has happened since then.

            I would post his photo but he died long before we knew digital photos. (Maybe I need to consider scanning some.)

            Daddy did not see email. Six months after he died, I received a hand-written letter he had sent me, when I was in New Guinea. It had been mistakenly placed on a ship, instead of an airplane. It arrived long after I had left for home; the missionaries kindly mailed it back to me—by air.

            He missed the fall of the Iron Curtain and 9/11. He missed the firing of Tom Landry and wins under Jimmy Johnson.

            When daddy died, we didn’t know who George W. Bush was. Heck, Ronald Reagan was only two and a half years in to his presidency.

            He never knew my wife. He, obviously, did not know his grandchildren. He never saw the adult my sister grew up to be, nor her husband and children.

           

            He never saw the human being that my mother became. Indeed, I think the crises of his illness and death helped make her the woman she became.

            Daddy never saw any of this.

            Yet, because of the work of Jesus, considering Daddy’s place in eternity, maybe he did.