Memories

Fragrances, colors, glances, foods, expressions—the assortment of life's unexpected occurrences that jog our memories.

Jog my memory. Don't jog my memory. It can be bittersweet, can't it?

That's what I've been juggling in my mind all afternoon, since I picked up my daughter from her volunteer job. She greeted me at the car with a handful of candy from our church's trunk or treat.

As I looked at the candy, I said, "She always made sure I had plenty of tootsie rolls." The tears pooled and fell.

"You miss her, don't you, Momma?"

"Yes."

While I spend my days writing, she spends her days across the globe in language learning.

Memories are a precious thing. People are a precious thing. We don't always realize it until we can't reach them. Until we can no longer see them.

The ones who we can only see in thoughts and dreams.

Filter your pain through God's pane.

And grab the ones near and love them.

The ones that—

don't put the toilet paper on correctly
mess up too many dishes
track in leaves all over the clean floor
leave their belongings strewn about
don't do and say the things we wish they did
don't get the job done to satisfaction

Choose to love. Demand less. Expect less. Make memories.

Don't be too tired to play.

Don't say, "Another day."