My Memories of Ray by Tammy L. Sanders December 1, 2008

How do you talk about a man who used few words but listened long and lived to serve? You can’t describe the facial expressions when playing with children that would have old and young alike rolling with laughter.

You can’t describe the quietness while he worked to make life comfortable for others. You can’t describe the quickness of his reaction when his family was in danger or hurt.

You knew he loved you because of what he didn’t say. He gave his granddaughter Hershey Kisses behind grandma’s back when she was sick because he wanted her to feel better – never mind that she had the flu.

He was an amazing storyteller. Mostly truth sprinkled with exaggeration but sometimes exaggeration sprinkled with truth.

Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. – 1 John 3:18

This man went forward to accept Christ as his Savior one Sunday morning as an adult while his children were young. He said he fought walking down that long aisle in front of everyone but he knew he had to go.

He was a new man and his life bore that witness. He wasn’t a perfect man and he wasn’t always right but he strove to love the Lord his God with all his might.

Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses. – 1 Timothy 6:12

While a young father he took his family on a hike to see a waterfall. He knew where it was but wanted to see if his children remembered. They didn’t see the waterfall that day but it was still a good day.

Before his body started to hurt so much he taught his granddaughter to dance something from the “olden days.” He didn’t really complain about the pain he was in these last few years. He complained more about the frustration of not being able to do all he wanted to do.

You have allowed me to suffer much hardship, but you will restore me to life again and lift me up from the depths of the earth. – Psalm 71:20

Raymond John Woolson My father was born on August 11, 1943 at his uncle’s home in Newfane, New York. After battling the destruction of his body by autoimmune disease he left this earth on July 17, Our life as a family was forever changed and he is missed everyday. ~TLSanders