Last weekend I had the joy of attending my graduating class reunion and I hate to admit it was our 50th anniversary.
One classmate came with his restored Ford Fairlane, maybe a ’62, shiny candy-apple red in mint condition.
Of course the rest of us came in late-model cars that look so similar you could hardly tell the year or the brand. As I looked around, I thought I had come to an old timers event –there were white or grey haired men and ladies but then I had to admit that my hair was missing too.
However, the strangeness of not seeing each other for years was soon broken by that recognizable grin, the long hugs, the twinkle in the eye, or the remark, “Oh, it’s good to see you!”
Soon we were like buddies in the classroom, or committee members working on the yearbook, or throwing the ball to each other on the basketball court. I was there with my camera again, getting in on the action.
But there were some people missing. Virginia sent a letter that stated the reason of her not being there. Henry said he had planned to be there but he could not make it. And then there was the stunning reality that eight former classmates had passed on; it seemed that nothing could fill the void they left behind.
Of course, we celebrated by eating a lot, laughing at the reminiscences and enjoying looking at each other as though time had stood still for a little while. The stories rolled at each table at the Ramada dining hall.
Someone asked, “Did you ever have to go to the principal’s office?” There was this award ceremony at the end of the year, with the whole school in attendance.
Someone disturbed the peaceful event with some loud noise. The principal immediately stopped the ceremony and asked for the student responsible to own up to his or her misdemeanor.
No one moved.
Finally after waiting for some pause, one student felt pressured to say it as it was. To the principal’s office he went and we all heard the “whap, whap” for each hand. Then the ceremony continued as if nothing had happened in between. Discipline has changed a lot.
Stories of God’s grace kept coming. My friend Jim and his wife Joan were sitting next to me.
Jim got up and shared how he had come through two open-heart surgeries last November. It was doubtful that he would make it out of the hospital alive. He did not remember much of that time except one clear moment.
It seemed a bed was put beside his with no tubes and no medications anywhere to be seen. He wanted to slip over to that bed – it seemed so peaceful and serene. Then he noticed someone standing at the foot of his bed.
Jim said it was Jesus standing there and he heard him say, “Not yet!”
From that moment Jim slowly recovered and was able to tell us the story. He felt there was still something left for him to do.
Soon the evening was over and we went our separate ways again. But I went away thankful for friendships renewed, thankful for a good education I had received and thankful that we still have opportunity to fulfill our purpose here on this earth.
Like the writer of the Psalms, I would pray, Lord “teach us to number our days so that we may gain a heart of wisdom,” (Psalm 90:12 New King James Version).
– John Siemens is pastor of the First Baptist Church in Grand Forks
