As I sit in the chair and watch a sleeping Hans. I know that I cannot hold his memory in my mind forever. What is there to remember? socks? bathroom smells, idiosyncrasies we all possess. When i left my old boyfriend in Seattle at 15, I memorized the line on his neck ( I can see it now) but forgot his face. What can I remember about Hans should I live another twenty years? I think his voice is more important than pictures. A voice is a trigger for a thousand memories. If you knew that you were going to lose a child, what could you do now to hold on to the living essence of that person over time?
I have pictures of my late husband, but they are not the essence of who we were. In trying to hold on, we freeze time. Perhaps it is really that I have forgotten myself. Who was that girl? For I am not even the same person I was on my honeymoon. I wish I could recover her. But I am not meant to be static. Growth is about change, becoming like Christ and saying goodbye to the broken and cracked vessel that we used to be.
Maturity is about looking forward and not backward, lest we fall into the sin of Lot's wife. I know all that will be left of Hans (his effects), will be my least favorite parts of him, but probably the most meaningful: an old Greek Hebrew bible with a torn cover, slips of papers with word studies, a mountain of prayer notes, a ratty old pair of moccasins, smudged with backyard dirt, his falling apart watch, his favorite old toothbrush that he would not give up, and his work pants. I could make a museum of these old artifacts. My eyes tear up because I know that they reflect a real man, a hard worker, a great friend and a servant. A man who loved not the world.
I forget that this is not our home. This is a wilderness and that we are on pilgrimage. I just wish that Jesus hadn't made it so beautiful. I want to stay here on this side of the Jordan. And in doing so I will be left behind...still a child in the land of grown ups.
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