We could never learn to
be brave and patient if there were only joys in the world – Helen Keller
I recall someone once saying that people don’t actually
remember events. Something happens (an event) and our minds gather information
(sights, sounds, smells, emotional responses, etc.) and each time
we “remember” the event, it isn’t the event we recall, but mental puzzle-parts
we piece together.
In other words, each time we remember an event, it isn’t the
event, but recalling the reconstructed incident the last time we remembered it.
So our memory is like the old copy of a copy of a copy in the early days of
photocopiers or mimeographs (I am picturing everyone born after 1970 scrambling
to Google to see just what on earth a mimeograph is).
So memory isn’t what we think it is, and if this theory is
correct, then it’s no wonder we remember things differently. It isn’t unusual,
for instance, for me to look for something and I’ll remember exactly where it
used to be when we lived in Fresno or Ennis, but for the life of me I can’t
remember where I put it in our current abode.
It’s frustrating and a reason I don’t want to ever move
again. Besides, what are the odds I’ll remember where we’re now living?
That’s another thing: I used to remember phone numbers and
addresses like crazy. I might not remember your name, but I’d be able to call
you up at the drop of a hat. Now, with phone numbers etched into our telephone
and computer contact lists, I can’t even remember my own phone number half the
time. The old saying, “Use it or lose it” is truer now than ever!
Since I never considered my memory to be all that good, I
found myself buying a book promising the reader they would learn tricks to
improve that facet of their lives. Sadly, I can’t remember the name of the
book, the author, or when last I saw it! I do remember, though, it wasn’t all
that helpful.
Every now and then I will see an old photograph and have
absolutely no recollection of having taken it, or the circumstances around it.
It may stir an emotional reaction, even if it doesn’t otherwise jog the memory
whatsoever. We have taken tons of scenic photographs over the years and as I
view them on the computer or flip through our photo albums, I find myself
wondering where they were taken. A tree topped hill doesn’t give many clues on
its own; it could be Michigan, Ohio, West Virginia, or any of a million other
places.
I believe memory is a gift from God. While I may complain
about how poor my memory is (and it is about certain things), the fact is the
gift of memory allows us to learn so that we don’t generally burn our lips
twice with a scalding cup of coffee, or stumble twice over a crack in the
sidewalk.
Driving along a canyon, I am amazed by the thousands of
birds that manage to find their nest in the face of the cliff, and they do so
without addresses or zip codes. Penguins (which all look alike to me) wander
into a field of a million other penguins and find their own mates and
offspring, and they do so without government issued IDs, or QR (or bar) codes.
When I gather with people of my own faith community, much of
what we do is share the stories of our lives and the stories of our faith with
one another, remembering just what it is God has done for us and, just as
importantly, how we might need to respond to the grace received. We do not
celebrate the times we have been injured by things said and done, but remember
the grace of God that brought us through those times, and the healings we have likewise
experienced.
Sometimes people confuse going to church with trying to earn
a spot in the Good Place, but really, it is going to sing the songs of
deliverance and realizing that God knows who we are (by sight, smell, and sound
like penguins?) and, more than that, will never, ever forget any of us. Period.
Full stop. Amazing!
