It’s what I called him, Uncle Faithful, but not ’til after he died. He was daddy’s eldest brother, a bachelor. Uncle Jack lived one of those quiet lives that doesn’t make much difference unless being faithful in small ways adds up to more than most of us imagine. I wrote about him in The Welcome Song.
So why bring him up today? I’m never all that sure about why someone or something comes to mind. Sometimes I blame or thank God, other times I accept responsibility. This time, however, Uncle Jack showed up because of his Sunday School pin. I’d been fishing around in my jewelry drawer when I snagged his pin. I don’t think you can still earn them. This one, made of metal and embossed with enamel, resembled the kind a military hero might wear. Several linked bars dangled from a fancy looking shield.
Well, Uncle Jack was no hero unless faithfulness counts. The pin honored him for seven years of perfect attendance at Sunday School. Does that matter any more? Truth was, he should’ve had a drawer full of those pins. He never missed, as far as I know. If he said he’d do it, you could consider it done. If he said he’d be there, he was. Uncle Jack grew up in a time when what you said and how you said it mattered. He wasn’t perfect but he represented something important, faithfulness.
Last week I read in a devotional booklet from the Episcopal church, “Faith is what we believe but faithfulness is when we act like the things we believe are true.”
Maybe I need to keep that pin where I can see it, since I haven’t been to Weight Watchers in months. I’d hate to step on their scale and hear it yell, “Whoa!”.
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