How quickly I forget. How quickly the words escape into the ether and my faith-filled experiences and my God-given confirmations become a distant memory. I have had my share of minor miracles and serendipitous encounters with wonder. I have felt the Presence of God. I have prophesied truths that I could not have known except through divine revelation. And yet, I forget. I lose myself in my circumstances and my fears and insecurities.
Fix [anchor] these words of mine in your hearts and minds; tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Teach them to your children, talking about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Write them on the door frames of your houses and on your gates, so that your days and the days of your children may be many in the land the Lord swore to give your ancestors, as many as the days that the heavens are above the earth. [Deuteronomy 11:18-21]
To remember the stories of our past, we must talk about them. In this way, families develop beloved corporate stories that are passed through the generations. Their exactness is not as important as their intent, the feelings they engender, and the bond of memory.
God offers us this opportunity through the scriptures and texts, the oral traditions put to paper were passed to us for our sakes.
Through the prophets, the people were told over and over again, to remember.
Today marks the fifth month of my husband’s death. Who he was and what he did and what he looked like are still emblazoned in my heart, but for the sake of the children and the children’s children, we must remember and share and talk about this man. And while we do this, let us remember as well, his unwavering faith that became a rock for our family together. Mike was our family’s anchor; Christ, my soul’s anchor.