I forget things sometimes. I forget meetings. I forget promises I’ve made. I forget to turn in forms on time; I do that one all the time. The other day I realized I’d finally forgotten my Hannibal phone number; I still know Trinidad’s (846-3488) and Walsenburg’s (738-2124), but I have forgotten my Hannibal phone number.
Other times, I forget bigger stuff. Just the other morning, I forgot that Madelynn is only three years old, and I yelled at her for using my make-up brush to clean the bathroom …. she worked really hard to impress me with the work she had put into scrubbing that tub, too. That same day, I hung up on Keith for leaving an errand for the end of the week; I forgot that it was gracious of him to do it at all.
Employees, bosses, family, friends …. my forgetfulness affects each of them, but I hurt myself by forgetting, too. Sometimes I forget that eating McDonald’s will not make me feel good. I forget that staying up late makes me cranky, and I keep forgetting that working out would give me a lot more energy than coffee drinking does. As the Mercer Meyer book famously explains, “I just forgot”.
Do ever forget something that changes the outlay of your entire day? What about your entire week? If I forget cash, and have to live a day without a cappuccino, MAN – that is a bad day. If I forget to call someone back at work, it can push back meeting times, and that can throw off a whole week, phew! I forget just how horrible forgetting can be.
We have an entire industry built on forgetfulness. Franklin Covey Day Planners, Microsoft Outlook, Google Calendar, and a myriad of ipad apps insure we don’t forget what it is we’ve got going on in a given day. Ahhhh, America … while others around the world struggle to find their next meal, we struggle to remember our next lunch meeting. While a young mother in the inner-city scrimmages for something for her newborn to wear in the Goodwill pile, the rest of us cuss under our breaths when our smartphone reminds us we have missed our monthly nail appointment. Oh, the perils of our forgetfulness.
When it comes to deeper matters, however, it is often not our technological devices that spur us to remember. I have sworn enemies, only a few, but I do have them. There have been times in my life, while looking through a scrapbook or photo album, I will realize I have forgotten why I don’t like them anymore. There are days my best friends will bring up stories and I laugh until I cry … only a loved one’s voice could have uncovered what I had forgotten. Other things can never be uncovered, and we mourn not for the simple inconvenience of what our mind has misplaced, but for the loss of what certainly would have mattered; I don’t remember much about my paternal grandparents.
Then, there are things we wish we could forget, but can’t. Forgetfulness can offer powerful protection. Part of my husband’s PTSD diagnosis is the reality that his mind has rewired itself, never to completely recall what his 14 year-old self was forced to deal with on April 20, 1999, as his high school wrote itself down in history as a famed tragedy. There are life decisions I have made that shame me, and my only peace is forced forgetfulness. And Lord knows … we all have exes we’re still trying to forget …
But, my most sorrowful experience with forgetfulness? Some days, and I would venture to say most days, I forget that I am a child of the King, and a rightful heir to the Kingdom of life’s Creator. I am, in Him, invincible. I can call on mountains to move, and souls to change. I can never die. I have healing powers. I have compassion beyond comprehension. I have all I need, and all I’ll ever ask for. And I have all of this … because I am nothing.
I have so pitifully forgotten. I live like nothing’s changed. I speak like I don’t know any better. And I love like all I understand is lust, and not the deep soul-changing reality that is His blood. I fret about all the little things, and I lash out on those who contribute to often-imaginary stress. I. Have. Forgotten. Yet, in the midst of such epic failure, God remembers. The God of the universe, Who is counting the hairs on the heads of millions, Who insures that the lilies in the valley are clothed, Who is orchestrating every moment … remembers me. And this changes everything.
Oh, that I would believe I am involved in my own salvation process! I am but filthy rags before the Throne. I am the Israelite, complaining of manna, forgetting I am on the road to the Promised Land. I am David, lying with Bathsheba, forgetting I once killed Goliath with a stone. I am Moses, explaining my impediment, because I have forgotten the wicker basket that carried me to safety. I am Peter, wishing I could forget the rooster’s crows.
We fall down, we lay our crowns, at the feet of Jesus. The greatness of His mercy and love, at the feet of Jesus. And we cry, “Holy, Holy, Holy”. We cry, “Holy, Holy, Holy”. We cry, “Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lamb”. What have you forgotten recently? Is it affecting your relationship with the Father? Is it preventing a relationship with the Father? Mark your calendars, then, Dear Friends, and make an appointment with the Holy of Holies, the King of all Kings, and the Creator. His schedule is always open for you, and He never forgets.
JNACK
