September 25th

"Is it a girl or a boy?"

"A boy?! Does he have a name? Who does he look like? Does he have any hair yet?"

"They named him Richard? Hmm... okay. A little boy named Richard Elliott, born to Jessie and Hap."

I'm sure there were many who were excited to receive the news of Jessie Holdaway's new baby, born that autumn day in 1943 in Price, Utah. Her mother and father, Gypsie and Lawrence, were probably busy at home, getting everything ready to welcome this little boy, their grandson, to his first home. Jessie's sisters and brothers were probably curious to meet this new little nephew and wondered what the future would hold for him. It was the beginning of a new life; a start to a new adventure; a blank canvas, waiting to be filled with colors, shapes, and images of a lifetime filled with memories, experiences, and relationships.

Fast forward to the present. Autumn has arrived and it's September 25, 2012. It's his birthday, and there are again many thinking about him, remembering him, and wishing him another happy birthday. The canvas of his life is now full of a whole spectrum of colors, images, sounds, and memories, spanning both time and distance.

These people who are now thinking about him aren't the same as those who were excited to meet him on the day he was born. These are HIS children, wife, and grandkids. These are the ones who make up the whole generation after him; the ones who were loved by him and shaped by him into who they are now; the ones who hold tight to the canvas of memories that he painted for them throughout his life.

They laugh as they remember a kiwi on the hood of the car or an Easter egg with "real whiskers." They smile as they remember how he sounded when he laughed and how he had a wonderful smile, though in most pictures, he's probably got a silly grin instead. They lovingly remember hearing him tell stories of the haunted house, the can of silver paint, or the fall down the elevator shaft. They think back to the stories he shared about his two and a half year mission in France, like his first morning in Paris when his companion made him prepare breakfast. He went across the street to the market and, because of the language barrier, couldn't figure out how to say much other than "egg" so he made scrambled eggs for breakfast with what he thought was cooking oil, but was actually a whole jar of consecrated oil. They think about the car shows, car magazines, car brochures, car covers, model cars, and sports cars. They remember road trips back to Price and holidays spent with Grandma Jessie.

Then they quietly remember how he patiently and humbly battled kidney disease for nearly a decade, without complaining or asking "Why me?" They gratefully remember him putting his hands on their head, or the head of their children, blessing them, praying for and with them, strengthening them, lifting them. They pause in silence as they think again about that day in May 2009 when his body finally let his soul have a little rest from the trials and pains of mortality he had endured for so long.

"Is he here? Already?"

"Who? Who is here?"

"It's Richard! Our grandson!"

"It's Richard, my brother!"

"It's Richard... my son."

I wonder what those reunions were like for him. Reuniting with his younger brother he had loved so dearly and had lost so prematurely. Reuniting with his grandfather who had been like a father to him. Reuniting with his own father who had not been much of a father to him (he told me once that when he sees his own dad again, he's going to "stomp on his foot and ask him 'Where were you?'"). Reuniting with his life-long buddy and former mission companion, Sorens, who passed away only a year earlier. Reuniting with his mom, his most precious and dear family member who had passed on already. It must have been a joyous day for him.

But today is a joyous day for all of us, as we think about him and celebrate his life! And someday, we'll reunite with him again, and what a day that will be! I wonder what that reunion will be like, when I get to see Dad again.