In the quiet of early morning, I do the good work of remembering—looking back over the last day or two, recalling, reliving, re-enjoying. I remember things that happened in the fullness and bustle of life, when I had neither time nor space to fully appreciate. A look. A view. A sky color. A fleeting thought. A funny comment. A snippet of conversation. A warm ham-and-cheese croissant. Goodbye tears. Laughter rippling through the dinner conversation. Clear, unclouded eyes meeting mine. An elderly man in tattered hat and weathered face. A child’s question (‘Do you think the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus are cousins?’). An old friend’s ‘well done,’ spoken without speaking. A starry sky beyond words. The relief of a challenge met. Dancing for the pure joy of it. Savoring. Reliving. Deepening the memories. Stewarding them well, so that I can appreciate their richness again and again. And saying thank You. I have other good work to do today—meetings and computer tasks and household chores—but the good work of remembering seems somehow deeper.
“Memories, darlin’. They’re what we live on.” Sarah Ann, age 82
“I will tell of the kindnesses of the Lord.” Isaiah 63:7