MEMORIES

Memories – Songs describe memories as precious and state that as we travel on life’s pathway we have no idea what the years will hold.  Thomas Hood wrote I Remember, I Remember. This poem tells about the house where he was born and red and white roses and where he used to swing. 

Memories – oh, yes, memories are precious.  But not always!!  I often hear people talk about the “good ole days” or “I wish I could have lived back then.”  Not me!  When I was a kid and visited my grandma or aunts and uncles, I had to use an outhouse.  Outhouses smell, they are very dark, and spiders live there.  I was always glad to get back home to indoor plumbing!  I think when people call them the “good ole days” they are remembering only the good things.  They picture people sitting in a swing and visiting with neighbors and forget that women died in childbirth.  They picture children running barefoot and tree swings and forget that children left school to work in factories or mines.  I hear people say we should go back to “family farms.”  I think they picture a farm with a few pigs, chickens, and a cow or two, but forget that farmers today feed all those people who wouldn’t know how to gather eggs, can green beans, or slaughter a hog.  I think we have selective memories.

Here are a few of mine ---

I remember feeling special on my birthday.  I got to pick the meal and what kind of cake I would like.  Dad, a truck driver, tried to be home on our birthdays, but it did not always happen.  One time, I opened presents at midnight when he got home.  I love birthdays!

I remember watching storms.  I still watch storms.

I remember my sister stopping her tricycle and my bike not stopping.  Do you know how many neighbors panic when they see a kid fly over a tricycle and land on a very hard sidewalk?  I do not remember the landing.  I think fright took over and blocked out everything between mid-air and being surrounded by those concerned neighbors.  Funny thing is I got in trouble and that younger sister of mine, who suddenly stopped her tricycle, did not.  This is the same sister that always had to go to the bathroom when it was time to do the dishes. 

I remember the first time I saw mountains and the ocean and flew in a plane. 

I remember my grandma reading her Bible. 

My best memory ever?  My best memory is yet to come.

Memories are precious and we never know when our heart will store a new one.  Some memories are hard and we try to forget them.  Do not do that.  Our past – our memories – all work together to make us unique.  They write our story.  They teach us how to handle new conflicts and trials.  They guide us toward new memories and new memories keep us from being stuck in the past.