I'm thankful, I suppose, for the little invention we call a camera. Because when the camera goes 'click' - instant memory! Certainly the real thing (memory, that is) is more vivid and vibrant than the moment caught on film, but the impact of the freeze-frame lets the reality come rushing back, better than the original.

From early days, we remember the good times, the bad times, the smiles, the jokes, the blessings, and the struggles that build the character that makes us who we are.

I remember first day of first grade. Arriving at school with my "twin" Sherry Long (we discovered shortly after moving to Cason, Texas that we shared a birthday): anticipation that something new and exciting was going to happen. Happy that I didn't have to face it by myself and quickly making a host of other friends to add to the one that I arrived to school with.

I remember my first crash. A real crash. Coaster brakes on bicycles on steep inclines should be applied early rather than late. Another thing for which I'm thankful is that the pick-up I ran into was mostly through the intersection and not just starting. Otherwise I'd probably be not here being thankful for memories.

I remember friends from the past. The laughs, the tears, the arguments. I remember the retreats to Mt. Lebanon with campfire devotions in the late October when it was getting cool. One year Randy even asked me to bring the devotional thought at the fire. Don't remember if it was a good devotion--probably a little lean because I spent the walk up the hill hiding behind the evergreens so that I could jump out and frighten the girls and younger youth (not much time to think about devotions on that walk).

I remember college days - at both HPU and OBU, separate but fond memories both.

See, the memories just keep flooding in. And if you've got a picture of photo album, the mountain will keep growing. Sometimes the tears (happy tears) will start flowing; at others the laughter just bursts forth and someone in the room with you will say, "What's so funny?" At which time you try to re-live and describe the memory, never doing it the justice that it deserves. And certainly without the Technicolor, VistaVision that replays in your mind. But the memory is still there and it's good. So, remember. And be thankful.