For He Himself knows our frame; He is mindful that we are but dust. As for man, his days are like grass; As a flower of the field, so he flourishes. When the wind has passed over it, it is no more, And its place acknowledges it no longer.…
Loving genealogy, I have gathered and saved lots of information and many pictures through the years. My Grandmother Barber wrote on many pictures, some of which were brought over on the SS Canada, from 'the old country' of her birth, in Yorkshire, England in 1906.
Sadly, some of the pictures are not inscribed. I think that they are of old family members and friends, known and loved by them before they left for Canada in 1906; but I have no clue now as to who they were, and Grandma - well, I'll have to ask her one day at the Grand Reunion.
It makes me wonder about my life - about last year and the one coming, how it was and will be spent, full of help and hope(?), and how quickly it all goes by and how, too soon, there is no one who even remembers that we walked this earth and left our own bit of carbon imprint.
Who measures our life? Who cares? Who takes note when we pass (or 'digs us up' on some ancestry search application)? 'They' say that matter can neither be created nor destroyed - that everything came from something (I think from Someone) - and will remain, if even in another form. For that matter, I think we shall always be, as well.
Ready or not, there's a New Year dawning and a next stage also drawing near.
Wonderful to know that God knows us, loves us, created us and has a plan for us - even when to others, we're acutely - and then, merely: dead and gone.
I promise not to be quite this introspective in the coming year.