In nearly every photo, he was smiling.

   I performed a funeral recently for Addison Sharp, who died at the age of 90. He had been ill for years, in a nursing home, unable to walk or to see, kidneys and heart both failing. Yet whenever I went to see him in the months before his death, he was nearly always smiling. The photos show the same. Even though his withered body was twisted in the wheelchair, a smile was on his face.

   A co-worker from decades past, writing in the funeral home's online guest book, said he "was one of the kindest, nicest men I have ever been privileged to know. He was always a pleasure to be around - always, always a gentleman."

   Not that he hadn't had difficulties in life. He was a combat veteran of World War II, one of the surviving crew members of a B-24 bomber shot down over Belgium. He nursed his wife through cancer and a far-too-early death. Despite all this, one of his children described him as "strong in his faith, a song in his heart, [and] a twinkle in his eye."

   That description continues, "He was a man of many titles - son, brother, college student, serviceman, husband, father, grandfather, professional, Mason, Lion, Chordsman [a barbershop singer], Deacon, Elder, Elder Emeritus. The most important title of all - Child of God. This was always part of his life. This was who he was."

   May we all remember who we are. And may that memory bring a smile to our lips, too.