remember

Looked After

| Marie Griffith

I lingered too long with my coffee yesterday morning. I planned an Independence Day run in my favorite park but didn’t start as early as intended. Orange cones already lined the street into the park to guide the throngs of firework watchers showing up to stake their claim to the best spots. I maneuvered my car through some of the cones to park in my usual space.

My run started better than expected and I felt good despite the heat. There were more people out and about at the park. Biking, walking, running, or preparing for their picnics. I ran through neighborhoods, around the school, then back to the park.

My run still felt okay but I was hot. I ran on the edge of a parking lot when I nodded to an older gentlemen driving a golf cart. He stopped the cart and motioned to me. I noticed he wore a cap with the park name on it. I wondered if he was an employee.

I walked to the cart and the man asked how long I’d been running. I answered him, then he asked how far I had to go. I told him, “three more miles to reach my goal.”

I must have looked overheated and thirsty. He handed me an ice cold water bottle from his cooler and told me to take it with me. Then he told me to take it slow. I opened the water bottle and drank fast. He looked concerned. I thanked him and turned to walk away. He said, “wait I’m not finished yet.”

He spread a small towel in his lap, filled the middle of it with handfuls of ice, and pulled the corners of the towel up around the ice. He put the “ice bag” behind his neck, on top of his head, under his chin, on his wrists and told me to do the same to cool off. I stood there with the bag behind my neck as he told me to be careful. He warned me of the heat again and I had a fleeting sense of familiarity.

He mentioned how he planned to celebrate later with his family and beamed when he talked about his grand children.

I thanked him again, reached to shake his hand, and asked his name. His eyes brightened, he shook my hand, told me his name, then asked mine.

Before he drove away, he said, “Marie, glad to know you.”

It wasn’t until this morning I discerned the familiarity.

The man on the golf cart reminded me of my father. Not his appearance, but the things he said and how he said them. His makeshift ice bag and demonstration of its most effective use. His going above and beyond in his care about such a small thing as me being too hot.

It was Dad who saw to our wounds when we were stung by yellow jackets or scraped our knees. He did the mean stuff. He dabbed our cuts with iodine or squeezed our splinters to the surface to pull them out with tweezers, and told us to stop whining about it.

As he aged, his care became more tender. More advice and prayers than tending wounds. Moving things or fixing broken ones. Letting us borrow what was his and always helping when he saw a need. Sometimes he helped before I knew I needed help.

Dad looked after us.

I finished my run. I took the man’s advice and slowed down, and it may be the reason I finished. I think it was another one of those times I needed help and didn’t know it.

 

Photo by Arleen wiese on Unsplash

 

Like a Good Neighbor

| Marie Griffith

When I finally sat down last night to read and write a little, I was overcome with nostalgia. Our Mother’s Day celebration caused some of it but most of it came from our time at the church. The church was filled with others honoring the man’s life.

We knew him as Mr. Jimmy. We lived next door to him and his wife for thirteen years in another small town not far from the one we live in now.

We drove past the old place on our way to the church and the sweet memories filled my mind. The summer gardens. The country roads. The fields and the tractors and the cows.

And Mr. Jimmy.

The visitation line moved slowly. When it was my turn to offer my condolences, I shared a few treasured memories, told his wife and daughters what he meant to us, and explained that our son would be there but he lives far away now.

Our kids spent a lot of time in Mr. Jimmy’s fields; climbing the hay bales, fishing the ponds, digging up bones and old glass bottles. They spent plenty of time in Mr. Jimmy’s barn too. Playing in empty stalls, cuddling kittens and chasing puppies. We didn’t know it until yesterday but on the wall of Mr. Jimmy’s barn is the name of each child that has ever passed through it, including our three. His wife told us Mr. Jimmy wrote their names in black permanent marker.

Anyone could tell Mr. Jimmy loved his place by the way he took care of it. He kept the barn clean and knew where everything was. A dust covered radio played old country or southern gospel music all the time. He enjoyed time on his tractor and ate onions right out of the ground. He chewed on peppermint from his herb garden to ease an upset stomach. He loved to tell a good story, especially the ones about how he used to be but wasn’t anymore. He loved Jesus and gave him all the credit for anything good in his life. He’d come to the house for a short visit and sit on the same side of the love seat every time. What we all remember most about Mr. Jimmy was his kindness, generosity and a willingness to go above and beyond.

Usually a verse I’ve read is rolling around in my head and I share it for Monday School. But today, it wasn’t a verse I was thinking about. I was thinking about Mr. Jimmy and what he meant to so many people.

Mr. Jimmy was a good neighbor. The kind Jesus talked about in the Gospels. The kind James wrote about in his epistle. And everyone was Mr. Jimmy’s neighbor.

Yes indeed, it is good when you obey the royal law as found in the Scriptures: “Love your neighbor as yourself.    James 2:8

Big Shot

| Marie Griffith

My husband and I recently visited the city where I went to high school. The city has changed a lot and I looked forward to my Saturday run so I could see some of the new sights. One of the most interesting was an outdoor art exhibition at The Hunter Museum of American Art. I stopped my run to take a photo of this horse standing near two cerulean painted trees.

Minutes later into my run I had a sense of familiarity. I almost missed it because I was dodging pedestrians and watching traffic, but it hit me. I was on the same street where I would park my car and run into the court house to turn in documents for the attorney I worked for in high school. I hadn’t thought about that in years.

One of my teachers helped me get the job. She arranged for me to leave school early each day to work at the attorney’s office. Although I’d worked at a school supply store for a brief time before it, I consider my job with the attorney my first real job.

Sometimes I felt like a big shot, answering phones and filing papers, typing important documents and driving downtown to file dockets at the courthouse.

I was seventeen.

Maybe we all feel like big shots at seventeen.

Lines

Good Remembering

| Marie Griffith

For those of you that receive an email when I post, I apologize. Technology is good to me most of the time but has been a challenge today. I accidentally published some of my random thoughts and ideas for posts. So you got a little look behind the scenes. It’s going to be a good Monday School anyway.

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”

Lamentations 3:21-24

These are verses that are quoted often. To encourage. To give hope. To remind.

If you read the entire book of Lamentations or at least all of Chapter 3 you’ll understand better the power of the words. They were written by a man who’d seen dark days. Weighed down by chains, torn apart, mangled, and cowered in ashes are some of the ways he described the suffering. The saddest words are these: “I have forgotten what happiness is. My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the Lord.”

“But this I call to mind….” Another version of the Bible uses yet instead of but to begin the sentence. Either way, the man remembers. And the remembering gives him clearer vision. Then he keeps remembering other things like, God’s forever love and His never ending mercies. He recalls God’s faithfulness and because of all the remembering the man has renewed hope.

This man who felt enveloped in darkness with teeth broken by gravel. This man who complained about being taunted and filled with bitterness is filled with hope and proclaims the goodness of the Lord.

I think the way the author remembered the steadfast love, faithfulness and mercies of God is by looking back at his own story and others too. Maybe it was a small thing or a life-changing event. But he remembered something good. Maybe it was something tragic but something good came from it. Perhaps he remembered his friends or other loved ones, good times and good food. Maybe he looked at the sunrise, the lake, and the stars and remembered the Designer.

Whatever it was, the remembering was good and needed and changed everything.

The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him.

Lamentations 3:25

Mnemonic

Birthday

| Marie Griffith

January 3rd is when Mom celebrated her birthday. According to her birth certificate that’s the day she was born, but she actually came into the world February 3rd. I’m sure she was proud of the error on her birth certificate when she was a teenager. She turned 16 before she really was 16.

IMG_6128Mom never made much of birthdays, especially hers. Whatever it was….the winding down after the holidays or the fact that she never mentioned it, many times her birthday passed right by until one of us remembered to wish her a happy one. She always said, “Well thank you.”

As we grew up and out of the house, she usually sent a card or called on our birthdays. One of the most special gifts I got from Mom on my birthday was a card that recounted the details of the day of my birth. I’d turned 20 something when she gave it to me and that was better than any other thing I could’ve received.

Her last birthday was a great party. IMG_0837My niece gave her a “birthday girl” pin to wear and cooked a wonderful meal. We had cake, balloons, and lots of us gathered to celebrate her. I bet it was one of her best birthdays ever.

I wrote a post two years ago called Mama. The post is about Mom and the song that makes me remember a specific time I was with her and my younger sister. I wrote it just because I was thinking about her.

I heard the song this morning on my way to work, thought about Mom and remembered it was her birthday – her birth certificate birthday. The one she always said was her date of birth and the one we celebrated with her three years ago.

I miss her.

IMG_6130

 

 

Three Days In

| Marie Griffith

My thoughts for Monday School are on Thanksgiving. I expected to write about one of the many verses on thankfulness but when I read this story I knew this had to be in Monday School.

I like to think of myself as a grateful person, but I realize I’m more like the people in the story than I want to be.

Three days.

That’s how long the people of Israel traveled before they complained.

The first part of Numbers is about censuses, assignments of duties, march formations and camp set up. But by the end of chapter 10, the people of Israel are on the move. Verses 33 & 34 say, “So they set out from the mountain………..the cloud of the Lord was over them by day when they set out from the camp.”

After almost a full year at Mount Sinai the people of Israel began their journey to the Promised Land. Three days in “and the people complained….” But the complaining turned into something worse.

“The rabble with them began to crave other food and again the Israelites started wailing and said, ‘If only we had meat to eat. We remember the fish we ate in Egypt at no cost-also the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions and garlic. But now we have lost our appetites; we never see anything but this manna!”   Numbers 11:4-6

The people did the same thing three days into the trek from the Red Sea to Mount Sinai. (Exodus 15) They complained about water. After they saw the Red Sea parted and walked to the other side on dry land…….they complained about water. This time they grumbled about food. The bread of heaven had ceased to satisfy. It wasn’t good enough. And with each complaint the people romanticized their time in Egypt.

We do the same. We may not say it out loud but we grumble in our hearts. The business we prayed for finally happens and as soon as it’s more challenging than expected we dream of the easy days before it started. The promotion we wanted demands more conflict resolution skills than we care for and we want to give up. We pray for good friends but distance ourselves when the relationships requires more give than take.

Like the people of Israel, we want the Promised Land but not the difficult journey. We want the privileges without the responsibility, the transformation without the work, the patience without the perseverance, and the faith without the fight. We want all the good stuff without any of the hard stuff.

Like the people of Israel, we forget. We forget the miracles, the healing, and the promises kept. And we choose not to remember how it really was in Egypt.

We would never say it but we ignore God’s Presence, doubt His promises and despise His provision.

And like the people of Israel, sometimes God gives us exactly what we think we want.

 

For the rest of this story read Numbers 11.

 

Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash

Remember the Leftovers

| Marie Griffith

I say if I’d been there to see the miracle of Jesus feeding the 5,000 with five loaves of bread and two fish that I’d follow him faithfully and never doubt anything he said. I would surely never question his promises after seeing him feed another crowd of 4,000 with seven loaves and a few small fish.

But then I read Mark 8:14-21.

Jesus is warning his disciples to watch out for the yeast of the Pharisees and Herod. Before Jesus explains, the disciples discuss among themselves that they brought only one loaf of bread on the boat and this must be why Jesus is talking about yeast.

Jesus asks, “Why are you talking about bread?”

That’s not the only question Jesus asks.

Do you not understand?

Are your hearts too hard to take it in?

Don’t you see? Can’t you hear?

Don’t you remember?

Remember how many leftovers were gathered after everyone ate at both crowd feeding miracles?

At first, I’m puzzled by the disciples’ bread discussion. Not only did they watch Jesus feed thousands with a few loaves and some fish, they saw Jesus calm a storm. They saw him walk on water and heal the lame and the leper. They saw him make the blind see and heal a synagogue ruler’s daughter.

So why this inability to see beyond bread?

They were captive to their limited frame of reference….even after all the miracles. Their frame at that moment was a boat and one loaf of bread. Unfortunately, like the disciples, I am slow to understand. There are times I can’t see beyond my circumstances and I forget the miracles. My vision is blurred and my hearing is selective.

When the disciples told him how many baskets of leftovers they picked up, Jesus asks one more question.

Do you still not understand? 

Jesus asks them hard questions but he isn’t harsh. He is patient and kind with their slow understanding. I am overwhelmingly thankful for his tenderness.

Because sometimes, like the disciples, I don’t see beyond the bread.

Photo by Expect Best from Pexels

Congregate

But They Soon Forgot

| Marie Griffith

This week’s Monday School is about a topic that’s been rolling around in my head for quite a while. You can click here to find out about Monday School.

Memory……remembering……reminiscing……..looking back…..

These are what I’ve been thinking about. So when I read in Deuteronomy yesterday morning it caused me to search further.

The first part of the book is an historical account of Israel’s 40 year wilderness period given by Moses to God’s people. The word “remember” shows up dozens of times in Deuteronomy.

But this is the verse that got me:

Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them fade from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them.   Deuteronomy 4:9 NIV

Over and over again God, through Moses, tells the people to remember.

“Remember the day you stood before the Lord……” Deut 4:10
“Remember the Lord rescued you…..”  Deut 4:20
“So remember this and keep it firmly in your mind……” Deut 4:39
“Remember you were slaves in Egypt…..” Deut 5:15
“Remember well what the Lord your God did…..” Deut 7:18
“Remember how the Lord God led you……” Deut 8:2

Do not forget……..remember the things your eyes have seen and keep them in your heart.

I think the word “fade” in the NIV version is so appropriate here. We forget slowly and sometimes unintentionally. The wonders and miracles fade away or cease to amaze us.  Or we work hard to forget the past because it’s painful and full of regret. Or we pretend the past never happened and try to remove anything and anyone that reminds us of it.

But God wants His people to remember……even the hard things…….even when they were slaves in Egypt.

Because remembering well and remembering honestly builds our faith, grows our patience, gives us courage and hope, and enlarges our hearts so that we look on others with compassion.

Psalm 106 tells what happened when God’s people forgot.

7″Our fathers, when they were in Egypt,
did not consider your wondrous works;
they did not remember the abundance of your steadfast love
but rebelled…..”

13″But they soon forget his works;
they did not wait for his counsel….”

21″They forgot God, their Savior,
who had done great things in Egypt……

24″Then they despised the pleasant land,
having no faith in his promise.
They murmured in their tents,
and did not obey the voice of the Lord.”

They forgot and we forget. O God help us remember.

The last part of Deuteronomy 4:9 tells us to teach the things our eyes have seen to our children and our children’s children. When we do this……we’ll remember.

So we tell our stories. The good stories and the hard ones. The ones where God pulled us from the miry pit and the ones where He set our feet upon the rock. The stories where we turned away from Him to do our own thing…….and the ones where He welcomed us back into His loving arms. We tell the stories that are hard to hear and the ones that make us wonder. We not only tell them……we read the stories and listen to them too. That’s how we remember.

Remembering well reminds us that God is God and we are not. So when we read Paul’s words in Philippians 3:13 about “forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead” don’t think Paul is telling us to forget our past. More than any other of the New Testament writers, Paul frequently mentions his past in his letters. Paul knew that a good dose of memory of who we were before Jesus can be exactly what we need when we’re fighting the good fight or when we get too big for our britches. Paul means for us to be focused on God and His work….the work we are given to do……and not be distracted by what is behind us because while we are shaped by our past, we are not defined by it. God was there with us…..in our past…..in our pain……in our regrets and there’s nothing He can’t redeem, heal, and use for His purposes.

Memory is one of God’s beautiful gifts and one we are to steward like any other gift He gave us. How we look back over our lives matters.

Remember well. Remember honestly. Remember like it matters.

Photo by Cem Sagisman on Unsplash

 

They Won

| Marie Griffith

This is the kind of story that never gets old.

Daddy knew he needed to make a change.

To get better.

To save his life and ours.

He moved all of us to a whole new life in another state. Far away from the drinking binges and the fighting and the rehab centers that didn’t work. Far away from what happened and what was……..to something good and better.

The convoy to our fresh start rolled out one early summer morning in 1982. As a preteen I was probably less annoyed than most kids my age would have been. I knew I’d miss my friends but I was ready for something better. The hope of a calmer life, a different house, and a new school filled my heart. Moving day was a good day.

My sisters and I weren’t the only ones at a new school. Part of Dad’s new life included seminary and he began the night courses eagerly. He took careful notes in class and squeezed study time in when he could.

I can’t remember the day or the month or the season, but before the end of the first year Dad started drinking again.

Mom was devastated. She never told me that, but I know. Dad was too. When you’re a kid you have no idea what your parents are going through. Then you grow up and endure your own heartaches and one day, without meaning to, you feel the pain of your mom’s fear or the torment of your dad’s struggle with alcohol.

For the next decade Daddy lost the battle with alcohol over and over and over again.

Ten years.

Ten more years of the chaos and violence. Ten more years of tears and sorrow. Regretting the move, resenting the losses. Ten more years of emergency room visits and halfway houses. Ten more years of job changes and the financial strain and moving from house to house.

I’m sure Daddy remembered the day he took his last drink. He may have counted the days but he never told us. After about a year of him not drinking……we realized he wasn’t drinking. Then it was two years, then five. Ten years sober, then 20 years.

Daddy was sober for almost 23 years when he passed away in 2014.

Twenty three years of healing and restored relationships. Twenty three years of good memories. Twenty three years of the sweetest grace.

They won. Daddy and Mom pressed through and marched on. They fought the good fight and fought with each other. They messed up but moved forward. There were days they wanted to but they didn’t give up.

The long view is what got them through. The good days helped them see beyond the bad ones. When everything was falling apart they believed it could all come together. Love does that. It sees longer and deeper and wider. So my parents kept going. One day at a time. And they won.

The last time Daddy and Mom were face to face and held each others’ hands they weren’t thinking of the hard years. They were thankful for the moment and all the years that got them there.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash.

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