MEMORIES
Memories – This can be a very
dangerous word to use. It can start you
down the road of “back in the day” or it can start you down the road of “I do
not want to go there.” When I close my
eyes and allow memories to float through, it is a combination of both.
My dad was a truck driver. He was not home a lot. That caused many of the “I do not want to go
there” memories. Dad being
home/gone/home/gone resulted in confusion.
We always asked mom for permission to do something: go swimming, go to the neighbors (Yes, we
asked permission even though it was only one step over the property line.), or
go to a movie. But then dad would be
home and expect us to ask him. We would
forget, ask mom and then dad was not a happy camper.
Dad usually sat at the kitchen
table, with a glass of water, a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Except for an occasional Saturday night when
he would come into the living room and we would watch the last of a movie,
change channels and watch the last of another movie and change channels and
watch the last of a movie we had no idea of what was going on. (There were only three channels.) That is a back in the day good memory.
At breakfast the other day, we
were talking about living with no air conditioning. To be honest, we had an early form of air
conditioning. The windows were open and
fans moved the air around. At night we
slept where the air was moving the most.
Maybe in bed, but usually on the floor somewhere. (That made for getting up to go to the
bathroom a challenge. You never knew
where someone would be stretched out.) I
used to take naps in the porch swing. I
would wake up to kitchen chairs propped against the swing so I would not fall
out. Another good memory.
I love to watch storms. Even as a kid. I would sit in a corner of the porch where
rain never reached. If it turned chilly,
I would wrap up in a blanket. The clouds
would swirl. The rain would come. The thunder would roll. The lightning streak. And I would sit there taking in every sound,
sight and smell. I love the smell after
a storm. Clean! And the colors after a storm. Green.
Blue. White. As if God opened a new box of crayons and
colored away. For sure, a good memory.
Memories keep floating around in
my head and heart: Mother made the best
peanut butter pie ever. Dad played board
games and croquet with us but was always changing the rules. Seeing my very tall dad washing dishes beside
my much shorter mom.
But I also remember never hearing
my dad tell me he loved me and that leaves a hurt that never goes away. There were four of us kids, but my mother had
only one child: the oldest. When I asked her about that, she said, “There
is something special about your first born.”
When I asked about the second, third and fourth, she said nothing. Another memory which left a very deep scar.
Now this last “I do not want to
go there” memory is going to make you wonder what kind of a Christian I
am. We were sent to church but neither
mom nor dad attended with us. Fast
forward many years and my mother started going to church. Know what?
I was mad! Why couldn’t she have
gone when we were kids? Kids with no
parent beside us in the pew. She went to
Bible study. She bought a Bible
Commentary. And she told about her
Sunday School class and getting hugs each Sunday. Now why should I be mad and hurt because my
mother started attending church?
It took me many years to
understand that the home my dad grew up in is where he learned about love and
that it was shown with actions (providing for his family) instead of
words. It took me many years to accept
the fact that mom did love my brother in a different way than she loved us
girls. It took time for me to be thrilled
that mom was going to church.
When I finally looked back. When I finally understood. When I finally accepted. When I finally let go. When I finally forgave. I realized something. I love my father. I love my mother. They were not perfect parents. But they are my parents! I have directed many conversations upward and
I do believe we have it all worked out.
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Life is made up of memories. Some good, some bad and some are just
there. What we do with those memories is
what is important. We can allow them to
give us joy. We can allow them to make
us bitter.
Some memories we want to hold
dear. I saw a quote that said: Memories
are timeless treasures of the heart. So
true. Never let those good memories go.
BUT some memories we need to let
go of and move forward. We need to see that
God does not want the past to hold us from the future HE has planned for us.
Brothers,
I don’t regard myself as yet having taken hold, but one thing I do. Forgetting
the things which are behind, and stretching forward to the things which are
before, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the high calling
of God in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:13-14
Life is made up of
memories.
Some good, some bad
and some are just there.
What we do with those
memories is what is important.
We can allow them to
give us joy.
We can allow them to
make us bitter.
What are you doing with your memories?
