Storing Memories
Commentary below
Written by Rev. Philip Stonhouse
I am a Packrat of memories. My mind houses all that has past. I have boxed and filed all my memories into incoherent stacks. I search, trying to find a specific memory. Often it is never found, rather I get lost in the enjoyment of another picture or idea. They are not just pictures or files, they are items, toys, a rock, a rapper that mean so much more then the word can describe. I store the feeling, the sound, and the taste of all I have ever experienced. I look for in life, even today, experiences that I can box and store in the deep recesses of my mind. Even more I look for a memory so monumental that it will stick out above the rest and need a completely new category to file it under. All is stored here. Soon even this writing shall become part of that chaotic world; in the forgotten writing. Even the forgotten is never thrown out. It always remains, only hidden or lost.
Commentary: On a faith level, it is important to continually look back, remember, and reflect. Much of the Bible is looking back on the stories and memories of those long past. They tell the story of the lived-out experience of God in their midst. There is no doubt that most of these stories and memories went through many recalls, ponderings, and retellings until the fullness of God’s revelation and presence could be expressed and held onto. There is always something new to experience in this world, but it is just as important to look back, as our past informs our future. Our past doesn’t decide our future, redemption on the cross has proven that wrong, but if we do not ponder, reveal and relent, how can that redemption move us past what has happened and into the future hope God has promised.
On a personal level, my father was a collector in my childhood. We had tons of stacked bankers boxes full of clippings, note pads, and so much more. Each of these was a memory, of a friend, family, a colleague, a vacation, or whatever else we had a connection with. I always sort of imagined my dad walking into the basement and pulling out and random box, just to find the treasured memory within. There was a short time as a child when I had a glass cabinet, chalked full of the most random junk; every piece was a memory to me. There was an empty Star Wars chip bag from the release of episode 1 or 2, which I believe I watched in Spanish, since I couldn’t miss the opening. There were journals from every vacation. A dream journal. There was a plastic barney full of rocks when I used to collect and identify rocks. There was a grade 1 workbook, which reminded me of my childhood struggles, but the desire to persevere and the comfort that math brought me.
