[I don’t especially like this poem I wrote, but I ran it by some “friendly critics,” and they liked it, so here it is.]
Memories keep coming back — My sins and failures of the past, But, thankfully, the Lord was there — To keep accusing — the Devil won’t dare.
Memories of friends that died, Others, that I left behind — Physic’ly, or in my mind. Sometimes, perhaps, I was not kind.
Others left me at different times — I didn’t know with my small mind The reasons that would cause these rifts — Perhaps they were a painful gift.
So many awkward, embarrassing scenes — I almost have them in my dreams. Still, better just to have a laugh Than dwell upon a jumbled past.
Well, what’s a life without some pain? Without it, some say, there is no gain. And with a painful lesson learned The joy that’s birthed is fully earned.
Today, I’d like to ruminate on the power of good memories, at least one, from my childhood.
I will start in the present time. Yesterday, with two of my grandchildren, we made paper snowflakes. It was fun not only for me to show them how, but to watch their eager attempts to create their own. One is 5 and 1/2, the other is 3 3/4 years old. I had to help with some aspects, but they were able to use (safety) scissors fairly well. The older grandchild morphed into making confetti, which further on turned into a wild throwing of paper, and when cleaning up (sweeping), it got wilder. They started adding jackets, socks, boots, mittens, and toys to the paper piles. [Not sure I handled that well, but they had fun.] The younger grandchild was a lot better with scissors than I expected. I made some snowflakes, too, and we taped them on the wall.
None of this would have happened unless someone had showed me how to make snowflakes. In this case, it was my older brother. After perhaps 63 years, I still remember that he was the one who showed me how. Later in life, I often made paper snowflakes in winter, even though much of my life has been lived in the San Francisco Bay area, where there rarely is snow. But they’ve often provided much pleasure and joy.
There are a few lessons that I think are valid to draw from this:
One, children remember time spent with them, doing something together. I suppose these can be positive or negative things.
Two, we can influence children for good or evil, positive or negative.
Three, spending time with children in a positive way is more important than buying them things. Playing with them and interacting, praising them for any positive accomplishment, can be a great encouragement to them. (Some toys that they can interact with creatively on their own, are very useful, though. In general, I avoid most battery operated toys.)
Four, time spent teaching something positive is never a waste.
So, let them know you’re interested in their life, what they are doing, and encourage the good things. Sometime, even when you’re tired or exhausted with the children in your life, make the effort to interact. [But, I would add, if exhaustion is a pattern, get helpers and find creative ways to overcome that.] This can apply to other relationships. It is well worth it.
What are memories for? To haunt, to taunt, and still harass? To calm, to heal, forgive at last? What are memories for?
Connecting us to times long past, Is memory true, or false, we ask? To weave a story, to give God glory, To dream a dream, or nightmare gory?
What are memories for? To be a human, safe from danger, Or so afraid — beware that stranger! What are memories for?
Without memory, we cannot learn —
Life’s long lessons grow strong and stern,
And yet, through hardship, we are stronger,
In trials and tempests, fear we conquer.
clarakatalin 