Precious Memories: Today & Tomorrow

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

There is a row of willow trees along the west boundary of the park near my home. I noticed today that their woody brown branches of winter are beginning to give way to a yellow-green hue. My brother said that was a sign that the trees were preparing to burst forth with the new buds of spring.

Although the trees are of the same relative height, one in particular stands out to me. Regardless of the season, in my mind I see that tree radiant with the dark green leaves of summer. I also see my first remote control motorized sailplane wedged between two of its branches. As far as planes go it was a sad sight. The propeller was broken and a severed wing was resting comfortably in the grass beneath the tree. I gathered up the damaged pieces of my plane and headed home to make the necessary repairs.

The amount of time I was spending repairing my plane in comparison to the time I was spending flying was disproportional. There was a root cause behind this situation. My son, who has flown remote control planes for years and was struggling to teach me the sport, had repeatedly cautioned me that I wasn’t ready to fly solo yet. But once alone, I began to rationalize my ability: not my skill, but my ability to save a bad situation, somehow to pull it out at the last moment when I got into trouble. Soon I’d be back at the park with my repaired plane ready to give it another try. I had been flying real planes for thirty-three years. Just how difficult could this be? After the total destruction of three motorized sailplanes, I finally got the message.

At the suggestion of my son, my next plane was an awkward looking set of wings and motor that barely resembled an aircraft. Gone were the sleek lines of the sailplanes. Gone was the ability to soar to heights where it was hard to see the tiny dot of a plane high in the sky. I named my new plane Slow Poke because I could almost outrun it. It was so slow it could actually fly backwards in a seven mile per hour wind. But this little plane was exactly what I needed: slow to react to wrong control input, gentle in inexperienced hands and forgiving in outright crashes. Even with all these attributes I have still crashed Slow Poke more times than I can keep track of. I’m not an expert remote control pilot yet but I have become expert at quick field repairs so I can fix the damage and get back to doing what I enjoy . . . flying.

So, as I pass the row of trees along the west border of our neighborhood park, my thoughts and memories of the broken sailplane wedged between two branches isn’t a sad memory. It is a memory of a progression of events. Without those heartbreak experiences of crashing my sailplanes I would have never met Slow Poke and come to love and appreciate things that move at a slower pace but get the job done.

My life is crammed full of precious memories that become the sum total of who I am today. With rare exception, the places I go and the things I do remind me of special occasions and unique happenings that take me back in time and caress my heart with a tender squeeze. I believe it was Mark Twain who said, “I am a part of all I have met.” Mother Teresa said, “I desire to share a part of me with all I meet.” While one quote is focused on receiving the other is focused on giving. I have received much more than I have given in return.

Whether it is a memory of a model plane wedged between the branches of a tree, reflecting on a special hike with family and friends, or simply a phone call to check up on someone, I feel like my memories make me one of the richest men alive. Isn’t that what Easter is about . . . remembering what others have done for us, especially the One who gave us eternal life. It was Eleanor Roosevelt who said, “When managing yourself, use your brain. When managing your relationships with others, use your heart.” Isn’t that basically what the Savior has asked of us? When the woody brown branches of winter give way to the yellow-green hue of spring, my mind doesn’t just dwell on my earthly experiences and the special people in my life but also on the great saving sacrifice made for you and me by the Son of God. The new buds of spring remind me of the precious renewal of life freely given to each of us.