A Night of Nostalgia

This past weekend, we celebrated my dad’s fifty-eighth birthday. My sister came up with an idea: the dinner celebration would be just the five of us—Mom, Dad, my sister, my brother, and me. Our husbands would stay home, take care of the kids, and put them to bed.

With their children leaving the nest and beginning lives of their own, my parents have probably become used to the level of activity that takes place during our family get-togethers. Oftentimes, the children are the source of entertainment. Meals take place at home more than in public restaurants (it’s a whole lot easier to handle four very active kids). Setting the table for a meal usually requires counting and then recounting the number of bodies in the room. It’s either multiple conversations take place at the dinner table simultaneously, or single conversations remain brief because of the attention the children regularly need.

Last night, the five of us opted for meeting at a Japanese restaurant near our residences. However, after waiting for fifteen minutes or so after we sat down, neither of the two waitresses in the restaurant served us. They barely looked in our direction when we waved to them (I’ve had problems with this restaurant franchise before). Given that this was our special evening with the family, we were not willing to put up with subpar service, so my mom suggested we get up and leave.

Rather than taking all of our separate cars, my mom decided that all of us should go into my dad’s car and he’d just drop us off at the parking lot to pick up our cars when we were done dinner. Of course, my sister and brother had to joke that the shortest person had to sit in the middle—which was me. So there we three siblings were, jammed in the backseat together, asking my parents, “So where are we going?” Everyone in the car must have been feeling or thinking the same thing—when was the last time the five of us sat in my parents’ car, like our childhood days, waiting for my dad to drive us to the destination, meanwhile the siblings talked and joked—as if we were the same brothers and sisters a decade, even two decades ago?

We ended up going to Moxie’s. The waitress seated us in a corner booth. We looked at our menus. (Whenever the children decide to treat either of the parents to a meal for a special occasion, my mom usually tries to order something “cheap” so that the bill won’t be too high for us. She doesn’t have to—but every time she does it, I’m reminded of how she never stops thinking of us, no matter how old we get.) My sister and I scanned the menu, our indecisiveness probably stemming from the unfamiliar feeling of freedom—wow, we get to eat a meal without worrying about having to feed the kids sitting next to us—what to eat, what to eat?

Now, if I’m talking about family, and how it used to be with the five us, then I have to say—my dad going on for thirty minutes, talking about work, would usually be interrupted by my mom. “Okay… no more talking about work,” she used to say. “This is family time.” But, last night, there was no interruption. Partly because it was his birthday—so all of us yielded to my dad being the focus of the conversation.

Besides jokes, anecdotes, funny stories about the children, and arbitrary sharing—discussions also centered on the spiritual and theological. My dad, as usual, prayed before we ate our meal. The subject of salvation came up—those in our circle whom we were praying for, who were suffering, who were living in darkness, and deeply needed to hear the gospel. My sister began talking about how her eldest daughter is very eager to share about Jesus with the children around her. This is childlike faith, she observed. How far away are we from sharing about our faith like children? With no reservations. With enthusiasm. With love. But I remember we used to be like that, I replied. Back in the primary grades, I used to bring the Bible to school and tell people about Jesus. I remember even sitting in class once and memorizing Bible verses with one of my classmates. That’s how our parents raised us. They were always willing to drive our school friends to church with us on Sunday’s.

For two hours last night, it was refreshing and heartwarming to relive old times with the family again.

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About a month ago, Lee and I watched a DVD video of one of Rev. Charles Price’s sermons, which I believe was entitled “Experiencing the Parenthood of God” (I should have taken notes while I was listening to it!) One of the points he made was the importance of establishing family traditions. Help your children develop good memories of the past so that one day, when they grow up, even if they stumble upon a dark place in their adult life, they will always have with them memories of a good time, good place. A place they can return to. Be comforted by. Feel the goodness of. When your children think of home, “God” should be on their minds.

I think, last night, I was moved to think about the advice that Rev. Charles Price gave. While my family has had its up’s and down’s, of course, like any other family—the good humour, the camaraderie, the spiritual depth and understanding among all of us—made me swell up in warmth, thankfulness, joy, and wonder. I praise my Father in Heaven for creating families, families built on more than just a superficial foundation, but a meaningful one, an eternal one.

I look forward to Lee and I carrying out our own traditions for the family we have started. God willing, I pray that one day Nathaniel will be able to look back on his childhood, and—by the grace of God—feel the profundity of the faith that our family has nurtured.