On Memorial Day a curious thing occurred in my head. I was watching a old war movie that featured, among others, the late British actor Anthony Quayle. When I saw the then-young actor I remembered that in 1973 he took a post as artist in residence at the University of Tennessee, and that my wife Janice and I drove to Knoxville to meet up with friends Roger and Chicki Booker to see Quayle perform the title role in Rip Van Winkle at the Clarence Brown Theater. It was a Saturday night. When the show was over we ate pizza.
So much detail! So much memory of trivial stuff! All this going on in the head of a guy who has trouble remembering to enter a check.
Perhaps it is because I am now old enough to qualify for senior movie tickets that I notice lots of info in the media about memory. Aging baby boomers like me are encouraged to buy supplements, engage in mental exercise or develop new skills to stave off those annoying senior moments. There are 10 sure-fire steps to a better memory, but I forgot seven of them.
I do wish I could remember more, especially the important things. I wish I could remember the fresh touch of Janice's first kiss. I wish I could remember the moment my children called me "daddy." I wish I could remember the sound of my daughter's laugh as she took off with no training wheels, or my son's smile the first time he smacked a baseball not on a tee. These are things I want to remember in every nuance, but I can't. I know they all happened, but the details escape my memory.
There is so much junk I can recall--all the words to Octopuses Garden, the starting line-up of the 1968 Detroit Tigers, the exact words of the very first girl to make me cry.
Memory gives us insight into our twisted priorities--the places where we allow our minds to dwell and roll around in the mud. The objects of our repeated attention and revisitation sink in and stick. The things that are sweet and light rush on, leaving only fingerprints on the windows and walls.
So the self-pity in which we bathe, the hurtful words and actions that offended long ago, the overwrought glitz and glamor of heroes real and imagined--these things never leave us. We don't want to remember them necessarily, but we do. And the tender moments, the joy of first times, the blessings of the perfect moments--the intensity of these memories fade.
I'm struck by how often the scripture tells us to remember the important. We are to remember the sacrifice of Jesus and recall his words. We are to remember the poor, and the suffering of others. We are to remember to grace and mercy of God, and every time he shows us the reality of his faithfulness.
The Bible tells us about things we can do to help us remember what is truly valuable . In Deuteronomy we are told to hang God's word from our foreheads and to write it on our walls. We can stack some stones like Joshua did after crossing into the promised land. We can eat the bread of Christ's body and drink the wine of his blood. We're instructed to observe special days and feasts together with other believers, and to number our days--filling our hearts with the wisdom of all we have learned.
Recalling the blessings of God is even more difficult than the flesh and blood variety. I can look at photos of my children or the early years of my marriage, and piece together some enhanced recollection. But the rich reality of the fullness of God and all he has done for me and for those I love rushes past like so much wind and rain. I can't really get my mind around it, but I have to try.
The Bible, as it does in so many areas of living, reveals to us the real secrets to boosting memory. Rather than ginko extract or piano lessons, a better memory requires prayer and meditation, reading and re-reading God's word, special observances, ceremony, the stories and perspectives of others, and the discipline to write things down.
So much detail! So much memory of trivial stuff! All this going on in the head of a guy who has trouble remembering to enter a check.
Perhaps it is because I am now old enough to qualify for senior movie tickets that I notice lots of info in the media about memory. Aging baby boomers like me are encouraged to buy supplements, engage in mental exercise or develop new skills to stave off those annoying senior moments. There are 10 sure-fire steps to a better memory, but I forgot seven of them.
I do wish I could remember more, especially the important things. I wish I could remember the fresh touch of Janice's first kiss. I wish I could remember the moment my children called me "daddy." I wish I could remember the sound of my daughter's laugh as she took off with no training wheels, or my son's smile the first time he smacked a baseball not on a tee. These are things I want to remember in every nuance, but I can't. I know they all happened, but the details escape my memory.
There is so much junk I can recall--all the words to Octopuses Garden, the starting line-up of the 1968 Detroit Tigers, the exact words of the very first girl to make me cry.
Memory gives us insight into our twisted priorities--the places where we allow our minds to dwell and roll around in the mud. The objects of our repeated attention and revisitation sink in and stick. The things that are sweet and light rush on, leaving only fingerprints on the windows and walls.
So the self-pity in which we bathe, the hurtful words and actions that offended long ago, the overwrought glitz and glamor of heroes real and imagined--these things never leave us. We don't want to remember them necessarily, but we do. And the tender moments, the joy of first times, the blessings of the perfect moments--the intensity of these memories fade.
I'm struck by how often the scripture tells us to remember the important. We are to remember the sacrifice of Jesus and recall his words. We are to remember the poor, and the suffering of others. We are to remember to grace and mercy of God, and every time he shows us the reality of his faithfulness.
The Bible tells us about things we can do to help us remember what is truly valuable . In Deuteronomy we are told to hang God's word from our foreheads and to write it on our walls. We can stack some stones like Joshua did after crossing into the promised land. We can eat the bread of Christ's body and drink the wine of his blood. We're instructed to observe special days and feasts together with other believers, and to number our days--filling our hearts with the wisdom of all we have learned.
Recalling the blessings of God is even more difficult than the flesh and blood variety. I can look at photos of my children or the early years of my marriage, and piece together some enhanced recollection. But the rich reality of the fullness of God and all he has done for me and for those I love rushes past like so much wind and rain. I can't really get my mind around it, but I have to try.
The Bible, as it does in so many areas of living, reveals to us the real secrets to boosting memory. Rather than ginko extract or piano lessons, a better memory requires prayer and meditation, reading and re-reading God's word, special observances, ceremony, the stories and perspectives of others, and the discipline to write things down.
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Have a great day tomorrow.
Christine @ Live to Learn