Easter, a time of hope and celebration, reminds me of so many wonderful family memories. Unfortunately, my father did not remember any of them. As we gathered together at Waterford, he admitted that he barely remembered my mother. Wow. I showed him a picture of my mother, but he just shook his head. His memory seemed different, so I showed him other pictures of his life. The one I thought would spark a time of reflection included his former church in Lethbridge, Canada. However, he shook his head again.
My thoughts went back to last summer, our trip out West which included a trip across the border.
“Let’s go to your father’s Canadian church tomorrow, ” Mitch suggested on Saturday. I found myself getting excited about the possibilities. ” Yes!” I enthusiastically agreed. Sunday morning found ourselves driving toward Canada. After waiting thirty-six minutes for the office to open, we waited a mere five more minutes to advance to the entrance. Handing out passports and COVID cards seemed easy, but then we learned of AIRCAN. “What’s that?” Mitch inquired. The officer explained that it’s an online app that contains the necessary documents to enter Canada. Suddenly, the trip did not seem too easy. However,, after thirty minutes of scanning documents, entering dates, and verifying information, we were on our way, traveling through Canada, the former country where my father resided.
Unfortunately, due to the border requirements, we ended up arriving late. “Better late than never” is my motto when it comes to church, but walking in late to any event is not my favorite!
Attending a church as a visitor is an interesting experience. This particular visit combined our desire to worship plus a historical perspective. How did my grandparents choose this church? Despite arriving eight minutes late to a packed sanctuary, we located two seats. An older woman smiled at us in a friendly way I appreciated. After the service, an older gentleman greeted us. Surprisingly, he knew my father and his brothers. As more people gathered around and joined in the conversation, we met additional people who knew my father’s family. They even knew the location of the former farmstead. Art, a friendly farmer, walked us around the church and located the contact information for my cousin, a local veterinarian. ” Get a cup of coffee, ” he encouraged. ” Meet the table of white hairs, ” he jokingly added.
We followed him into the fellowship hall where a table of men sat, drinking coffee with smiles. ” Yes, we know Bert! Can we see his picture?” one asked. I quickly located his birthday photo. A few women also gathered around the table. ” I wouldn’t have recognized him, ” another stated. I smiled to myself, thinking that most people don’t recognize friends after so many years. ” How old is he?” another inquired. ” We remember him from youth group, always arguing over theological issues.” Mitch and I grinned, not surprised. ” Let’s get a picture, ” Mitch suggested.
I gathered with these wonderful people, who felt like instant friends because of their association with my father. I felt surprised at their willingness to have a picture taken, an activity my mother always deplored.
Leaving the church, we headed to Lethbridge to locate my grandparent’s gravesites. The cemetery, small and organized by sections, allowed us to locate it quickly. We didn’t have any flowers to add, so we looked at it for a while and then left. What else does one do at a cemetery? We stopped for a quick bite to eat, wanting to head back to the border. Thankfully, the return process proved to be simple. The Montana mountains welcomed us back as we ended our Sunday adventure.
As we ended our Easter Sunday adventure with another trip to Michigan, I felt a sense of gratitude that we took the time to discover a part of my father’s past. Even though he forgot, our experience is one we can share with our families.
A Journey Worth Remembering 