Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about memories. I know that seems like a weird thing to say, but in the last few weeks many things from my past have re-introduced themselves to me. I was thinking that my memories are like all the boxes of pictures I have stored, hundreds and hundreds of pictures, in boxes, crates, and picture albums. A person has to decide which pictures to put out for others to see, where they would fit most appropriately in our lives, and even who we want to see them. And then, when we do show people our pictures, there’s no way for the person to actually be in that moment, seeing what I saw when I took the picture.
I’ve admitted to being a horrible journalist, and that I fear, I know, someday all of my memories will be lost. A friend of mine called me a few days ago to share some wonderful news. This was a friend that I went to high-school with, went to England with, and even lived with for awhile. In that brief conversation (brief, because I was trying to chase Callie Grace down to put some clothes on her, while she was shouting “naked baby! naked baby), so many memories came flooding back to me, and memories for me have tastes, smells, textures. I remembered traveling England with her in a train eating bread, cheese, and pickled onions, because we were so poor! I remembered the smell of the dorm we lived in in England, the laughter and love there that healed me after a devastating few months previously.
And then there are the horrible memories, the sad memories. What does one do with those? To ignore them, lock them away, would be foolish, if not even dangerous. To dwell on them would be a waste of the time we are given, and would most likely drive you into depression. To dwell on them would build resentment and even hate for the people involved, locking yourself in your own jail cell.
As I sat and pondered these thoughts in the quiet moments (okay, fine, in Starbucks) I realized that a person has to come to terms with all of their memories. Each memory, beautiful or exquisitely painful, is like a single thread, weaving a tapestry through our lives. If a person believes in a sovereign God, which I do, this is easier to do, I think. And in the moments that we are actually living in, again beautiful or so painful you want to curl up and die, it’s only the comfort of knowing that God is, indeed, sovereign, that can keep us going, keep us praising, keep us thankful.
Andi oh the mnemories I hold in my heart of you guys and my precious baby girl. I thank God for you and Phillip and the time you all let me spend with Callie Grace and love her so much. She was such a blessing for my family and we love her so much.
Breanna and I look at the pictures alot and I have them on my computer and they pop up when I am not on it. Billy really got attached to her also. Well I think my whole family did because she was so cute and so good. God really blessed me with friend that felt safe leaving there baby with me so much and I love you for that and miss you all so much. If you ever want to come back home I would love to spend more time with you all and watch her become a teenager and Justus become a young man. Just remember the memories they are great. Thanks Andi we love and miss you so much.
This was a beautiful post. It took me back and made me remember 🙂
On a totally separate note, I tried to call you this week…just thought I’d mention it 😀
Andi, my mind went back a few years to a little poem that I had read in my youth, a fragment of my own memory. I have no title or author, but I do know the source. I hope you enjoy . . . . .
Not until the loom is silent,
And shuttles cease to fly,
That God unveils the pattern
And explains the reason why
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
For the pattern which He planned.
The Ministry (1953), p. 16