Grandpa was a simple man, to be sure. A man of a bygone era. We call it the Greatest Generation, but we do not mean it for a second! For not one of their values do we continue to hold; not one of their morals do we continue to esteem; not one of their ethics do we continue to regard. Grandpa is a relic and his memory but a fossil; they are simply reminders of things from long ago which no longer have any consequence. His life was a vapor, and all the whisps have vanished. The preacher was dea...

An old hymn came to mind the other day, and as I listened to the words, I couldn’t help but be transported back in time. There I was in my grandpa’s church; everyone was there. Grandma was at the piano playing the song as only she could; Grandpa was standing on the platform singing away as the song leader waved his hand with the tempo of Fanny Crosby’s “To the Work.” My aunts and uncles and cousins were there, along with my own family. During the chorus I can hear the echo of grandp...