The things we remember...
Isn’t it funny how something are etched so deeply in our minds and hearts, that we remember every single detail, while others, even though they may have impacted our lives just as much, leave us with only a blurred memory?
The birth of your firstborn…weights and lengths of all your children….remembered or blurry?
The date of your first date…know it by heart, or are you a little fuzzy?
The day you decided to make Jesus the leader and forgiver of your life….Crystal clear or misty?
I often wonder what crystallizes certain moments, while others dissolve like so much sugar in a tall glass of ice tea…the tea is different--irrevocably changed, but for the life of me, I can’t see the little pile of sugar that was dumped in. At least for me, there seems to be no rhyme or reason. I vividly remember a time when my sister and I irritated our mom by our incessant bickering so much, we earned the spankings of our lives. I may have been four years old. But I don’t remember the details of my wedding reception…just that we were late getting there because of interminable family photos after the ceremony.
I don’t remember many of the details of my mom’s funeral. I wore a green suit and embarrassed myself by telling a man old enough to be my father that as a young girl I had a crush on him (I was only 18 at the time—still a young girl). But as if it were yesterday, I remember hearing about John Lennon’s death. He died on December 8, 1980. Twenty-nine years ago exactly. Exactly four days after my mother’s death. I remember the next day watching raindrops slip down my windowpane. And the anger—no, the rage—I felt because the entire world stopped and paid homage to a man who claimed to be more popular than Jesus, yet the passing of my dear, sweet, humble mom was a mere blip in just a few lives. And how I felt she was much more worthy of recognition than someone so base and conceited…
This year, 29 years after my mom died, was the first year I woke up on December 4 and didn’t immediately remember it was the anniversary of her death. I did remember later on in the day while writing the date over and over in a closing. But I wasn’t as sad as I have been in the past. I’m certainly no busier than I have been these past three decades. Somehow, I feel lighter this Christmas season. More purposeful. And desperate to share the love and hope that Christ affords me with the world.
Now, if I could just get the decorations put up….
The birth of your firstborn…weights and lengths of all your children….remembered or blurry?
The date of your first date…know it by heart, or are you a little fuzzy?
The day you decided to make Jesus the leader and forgiver of your life….Crystal clear or misty?
I often wonder what crystallizes certain moments, while others dissolve like so much sugar in a tall glass of ice tea…the tea is different--irrevocably changed, but for the life of me, I can’t see the little pile of sugar that was dumped in. At least for me, there seems to be no rhyme or reason. I vividly remember a time when my sister and I irritated our mom by our incessant bickering so much, we earned the spankings of our lives. I may have been four years old. But I don’t remember the details of my wedding reception…just that we were late getting there because of interminable family photos after the ceremony.
I don’t remember many of the details of my mom’s funeral. I wore a green suit and embarrassed myself by telling a man old enough to be my father that as a young girl I had a crush on him (I was only 18 at the time—still a young girl). But as if it were yesterday, I remember hearing about John Lennon’s death. He died on December 8, 1980. Twenty-nine years ago exactly. Exactly four days after my mother’s death. I remember the next day watching raindrops slip down my windowpane. And the anger—no, the rage—I felt because the entire world stopped and paid homage to a man who claimed to be more popular than Jesus, yet the passing of my dear, sweet, humble mom was a mere blip in just a few lives. And how I felt she was much more worthy of recognition than someone so base and conceited…
This year, 29 years after my mom died, was the first year I woke up on December 4 and didn’t immediately remember it was the anniversary of her death. I did remember later on in the day while writing the date over and over in a closing. But I wasn’t as sad as I have been in the past. I’m certainly no busier than I have been these past three decades. Somehow, I feel lighter this Christmas season. More purposeful. And desperate to share the love and hope that Christ affords me with the world.
Now, if I could just get the decorations put up….
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BG