Just a Picture, or the Meaning of Life?

I'm on a roll here, feeling exceedingly nostalgic about my childhood and getting a bit teary-eyed over grainy little snapshots from the 1960's, pictures so small and out of focus that you can barely recognize the people in them.  I shared one of these vintage photos in my last post, from the time of my First Holy Communion in 1966.  

Today, I'm sharing some pictures taken on my second birthday in 1960.

I mentioned in that last post that my mother was a prolific scrapbooker and photo album organizer, truly a memory keeper of the highest order (and that I am very much like her it that respect).  When she died, she left behind an extensive archive of family memories: countless photos, letters, cards, and various bits of memorabilia, dated and organized with care.  And finally about a year after Mom's passing, my youngest sister (with whom she lived for the last seven years of her life) took it upon herself to go through it all.  Binders and bins and boxes galore.   She tossed out what no one would want, took photos out of frames, and carefully took apart dozens of photo albums and scrapbooks so that she could divvy it all up with her four siblings.   It was a gargantuan undertaking, but she did an amazing job (which is par for the course for this sister), and she put together a big personalized treasure box for each of us (with the photos even organized in envelopes by year!).  We got back all the baby pictures, school pictures, and wedding pictures of our kids that we'd shared with our parents over the years, and any other photos in our mother's vast collection that would mean the most to each particular sibling.  It was just extraordinary what she did for us, I'll tell you.  I love this sister and admire her so.  She’s the youngest, but I think she’s the glue that holds us all together.

In the box my sister gave me last month, there was a page torn from one of my mother's scrapbooks, filled with black-and-white snapshots from my second birthday party. 

Apparently, there was a puppet show!  
And it looks like the whole neighborhood was invited!

I used my phone camera to zoom in on one of them, where I'm sitting on a blanket in the grass, with all the birthday party guests facing me.  I was a shy kid, and I don't think being the center of attention was a comfortable thing for me (in the almost 66 years since these pictures were taken, I haven't changed much!).   My mom was an extreme extrovert, always the biggest person in the room.  And while the apple doesn't fall far from the tree when it comes to hanging onto and organizing family mementos, it does fall pretty far from the tree when it comes to being the life of the party.  God did not give me my mother's big, engaging personality. If those kids wearing festive party hats were expecting some sort of cute show from the little birthday girl, I doubt they got it.

The shy introvert: "Why is everyone looking at me?"

My mom, the fun extrovert, entertaining the troops.

It's funny what happened to me when I saw these pictures, which have been tucked away amidst my mother's things for so long that I really can't remember ever seeing them before. I had a rather profoundly emotional reaction, if you want to know the truth.  And I'm not even sure I can adequately describe how and why I was so moved, but I'll try.

As I said, I was a rather shy and quiet little girl, cute enough surely (because all two-year-olds are inherently adorable, IMHO), but relatively unremarkable.  But seeing these photos, seeing myself as that little person, I was struck with feelings of immense gratitude that I'd even been born, that God had made me just the way He had, that He'd given me life at all.  My eyes filled with tears, thinking about how incredibly blessed my life has been since I turned two.  What if I'd never been born, I thought, or if I'd contracted some terminal disease as a child?  What if I'd never gotten a chance to grow up?

If I'd never been that shy toddler, if I'd never been fortunate enough to stay healthy for 60-plus years beyond this little backyard birthday party, if we hadn’t left NJ and moved to upstate NY because my dad missed the area of the country where he’d spent his boyhood—if my life hadn't gone exactly as it had, I would never have met my husband (the best man I know), married him, and given birth to five sons whom I adore with every fiber of my being...not to mention that I wouldn't have 23 beloved grandchildren, precious souls made in God's image and likeness. As my mother-in-law always used to say, “You change one thing, you change everything.”  Every single piece of my life's puzzle, every turn in the road, led me to where I am.  And God’s plan for me has been better than I deserve and more perfect than I ever could have imagined.  Oh my goodness, looking at those old snapshots, I couldn't help thinking about how incredibly lucky I've been to have lived this wonderful life I've lived.  What a gift!

I know that you can't mourn the loss of something you never had (and that when you die as a child, innocent and unblemished, your chances of going right to Heaven are infinitely better than they are for a going-on-68-year-old!); but for some reason, these photos made me imagine all that I would have missed out on, if the little girl who was the reluctant star of the show in them had not been graced with such a long and happy life after this birthday party.

Do you do this, dear readers?  Are you reduced to tears by a simple photo sometimes, when suddenly its blurry images seem to hold the very meaning of life? Or is it just me?

Little did this wee birthday girl know the wonders
God had in store for her!

All I can say is this: thank you, God, for the gift of my life!

My string of Pearls.  ❤️