“Every happy memory created in childhood is a treasure of time.” — Anonymous

Happy Thursday, October 8, 2026! As kids, we used to read in the comic strip Barney Google and Snuffy Smith, “Time’s a-wastin’!” Those were the days when we got the Sunday newspaper, and the comics were in color. Yay! But on Sundays, we weren’t allowed to read them until we returned home from church services. The sin nature was in full bloom in us kids back then, just as it still is today! We were allowed to watch the Gospel Singing Jubilee on Sunday mornings. But as soon as Mom went into the bathroom, we would switch the channel to professional wrestling. We did. We really did just that. Watching that ugly Russian beat up our American wrestler got us fired up, and I can tell you with great certainty that it wasn’t the Holy Spirit firing us up! I’m sure most of my readers never sneaked around doing things like that. Right? Think about it. I was sitting there watching that wrestling match while painting my shoes with liquid shoe polish. No wonder a little polish got slung here and there—all because of that dirty Russian! Then, at Sunday school, the teacher just happened to hit us right between the eyes with this: “Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right.” (Ephesians 6:1) We may have fooled our mom, but as Granny Mac used to tell me, “You might fool me, son, but you can never, ever fool God.” Amen. I get it. But believe me, I still hate how that Ivan the Terrible guy always cheated on our American wrestlers. Ha! (I read that he wasn't even Russian; it was all just to fool stupid kids like us.)

 

Speaking of memories, I’ve often written about one of my all-time favorite pastimes: eating! I was always known as my mom’s good eater, Granny Mac’s good eater—everyone’s good eater. How can I argue with that?  These days, though, my appetite no longer qualifies me for that title. Between long-term diabetes medications and age, well, some of the things I dearly loved don’t taste as good anymore. I speak the truth. No one I know has been more blessed with good cooks than I have. No one. My Granny Mac, my mom, my mother-in-law, and my dear wife—all of them, without exception, could flat-out cut the mustard when it came to producing memorable meals. I hear what some of you are thinking: I don’t appear to be malnourished. That, my friend, is a correct assessment! But I still miss those days when I enjoyed such great cooking with such a hearty appetite. The meals are still there. My wife can put a home-cooked meal on the table that makes me salivate just thinking about it. At 80, the meals are still great, even if, for me, it’s not quite like it used to be. And that’s okay. If that’s my worst problem, I consider myself blessed. To quote my doctor once again, “Mr. Abbott, you’ve had a good long run.” Can you say Amen? I most certainly can! Thank You, Lord, for Your blessings on me. Amen.