By Kristy Hinson
I’m not sure how the process of making memories works. There are moments in my life that I think I will never forget, and then I look back on a picture and sometimes even wonder when or where that picture was taken. And then there are other moments, seemingly insignificant, unplanned, fleeting, that impress upon our memories the sounds, the smells, the sights, and even the feelings of that exact moment, and these are remembered without photograph or video or great lyrical ballads of any kind. I don’t know how to tell which moments will be carried for a lifetime and which memories will be lost somewhere in a string of days gone by.
And suddenly this is important to me. It is important to me because I have a son who is forming his earliest memories. His childhood is happening now, and I have no way of knowing which moments that we spend together, or apart, are making their way into that part of his memory that will be lasting, clear, and meaningful. I hope it’s the trip to the zoo with his cousins when trees were blooming on the most beautiful day in February, and they tried to catch a peacock. Or I would like for it be of nights when we pick out a book to read and say prayers before hugs, before kisses, before wishes of sweet dreams. Maybe he will remember asking me “Mom, why did God send us insects/rainbows/Jesus/mice/cats/trees/tornados/footballs?” and my thoughtful, gentle, patient and wise answer. Well, actually I’m pretty sure he won’t remember a thoughtful and wise answer since my answers are more of a stumbling around searching for truthful words to try to explain things to a four-year old that sometimes I don’t even understand myself.
But then there are moments that I don’t want him to remember. Moments when I answer him sharply because I have lost my keys again or I can’t get the printer to work correctly and am out of patience. Or that occasion that I sent him out of the kitchen because I didn’t have time to let him help make the cookies for the fellowship meal. Or the conversations I had in which I spoke ill of a friend or family member instead of keeping something to myself that never should have been shared in the first place. When I think of how often he sees me at my weakest moments, I hope those are not the moments that make it into his memories, moments that he remembers how he felt when his mother was too busy for him or too worried about things that I don’t even remember now.
And it’s very likely that the moments that make it into his memories won’t be the ones that I would choose. He may never remember his birthday party and the time I spent trying to coordinate invitations, decorations, games, food, and cake, and the cool toy that I was so excited to wrap in superhero wrapping paper that is now lost in a toy box somewhere. Truthfully, he is more likely to remember painting a cardboard shield together and listening to his dad talk about the many uses of duct tape as they made the shield’s handle. He probably won’t remember the huge Easter dinner I cooked and the fancy dishes I used to set the table, but he might remember sitting on the front porch on a summer morning eating sticky cool watermelon together and smelling honeysuckle. He might not remember the flip chart with the colorful pictures I made to teach him the story of Gideon fighting a battle with 300 men, but he just might remember being comforted when I used simple words to tell him about a time that Jesus’ disciples were on a boat and scared of a storm while he is sitting in my lap during a thunderstorm.
I don’t know how the process of making memories works, but I do know that most of my clearest memories were made in moments of everyday life. Beautiful moments, sad moments, hurt moments….ones that no one tried to create, that no one had a camera for, that no one else may even realize happened. It is my desire that I can help my son, “Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth, before the difficult days come” (Ecclesiastes 12:1). I can’t control the memories he will make, but I can try to give him a lifetime devoted to remembering the Creator, so that whichever memories he keeps, they will be ones to help Him through the difficult days that will come.
