BEFORE I BECOME SOMEONE ELSE'S MEMORY

I was just reading from a volume written by an Australian social media friend. Laine lost her husband a few years ago, and understandably, it has taken some amount of time to begin to transcend her loss.

And it occurred to me that one day, someday, someone will also be

…thinking of me in the past tense.

While, as believers, we are on a train leading to a known destination, we have never ridden this particular conveyance before, and the depot to which we journey remains an unknown quality. Nebulous, and apart from the assurance that the One who loved us and gave Himself for us will be there to meet us, there is a certain anxiety for our never having pulled into that singular station before.

We simply have no tape or scale by which it might be measured, the Hereafter, since it has not been the practice of those who have gone before us to return to this mortal coil; (although some have claimed to have experienced momentary visitations).

After my father’s passing, my mother awoke to discover her dear Henry; seating in the bedside rocking chair. He had the brightest smile on his face, though he said nothing. Seconds later, he disappeared. You can imagine what comfort my mother derived from the event. I can relate since I have experienced several miracles during the course of my two thirds of a century on this earth; including the momentary, visible presence of what (or whom) I believe was an angel.

And yet, for all the comfort such experiences provide us, and even for the assurances of scripture, we are left with an opaque reflection of God and heaven.

“We see through a glass darkly… (but then, face to face.)”

Pt. 2

Too many of my classmates “left us before their time.” At least, this seems to be the standard phrase to describe those who were denied a long and full life here.

I think of one young lady, in particular, (though there were others who died in their teens, and more who passed from this earth before reaching the nominal age of departure).

Beth was a dear Christian girl, a year behind me, and in my choral group. She lost her life in a one car accident during her second semester of high school. I have often reflected on the good she might have done and the impact she might have had; were she to have been granted the number of years which have, thus far, been granted to me.

Nevertheless, none of us can stay here, and as I have often quipped to my clients and interns, “We will all get our turn.”

(And indeed, we will).

I am SO absolutely sensitive to the awareness that I will soon become someone else’s memory that I am, on a daily basis, in the process of “leaving something behind.”

For you see, not a day goes by that I fail to write 8 or 10 pages in a journal to which I have assigned a title which includes the word, “diary;” (though, in fact, it is an exhaustive series of blogs and stories). And I ‘save’ these writings to a couple of duplicate hard drives, and file paper copies away in binders.

Following is a portion of the preface I have included at the top of each of the sixty volumes of my ‘diary,’ (which I have thus far written).

I stare into the eyes of that yellowing, fading portrait of my great Grandparents now, and their dull, unblinking eyes reveal

… absolutely nothing.

And I have often mused, “Why didn’t you leave something behind?”

Oh, how I would have enjoyed knowing you. How wonderful it would have been if you had left some word, some reflection, something of yourselves.

Well, my dear descendants, I have decided NOT to repeat their mistake; (and yes, I consider it an irrevocable mistake; which once the party has passed from this earth can never be corrected.) I think the following daily journal entries, (as well as my previously written autobiography, counseling memoirs, and other volumes) will not only elicit a few laughs, but provide you some insight into the life of your ancestor; someone not unlike yourself, who lived, and loved, and moved, and breathed, and made his way about this earth, and even impacted a few for good, “before you were even a twinkle.”

You deserve it.

And this writer, who by the time you read these words may have long since ceased to live, and love, and breathe, and move, and enjoy the beauty which God has visited upon our planet, can only wish you well, and exhort you to do as I am currently doing…

We are all too close to having eyes which do not see, ears which do not hear, and mouths which do not speak.

While there is still time,

… Leave something of yourself behind.

Pt. 3

There’s a commercial on TV which advertises “The American Association of Retired Persons.” In it we see a rather attractive senior citizen walking down a woodsy pathway.

And then her supposed voice muses,

“I’m sixty. I have a long life ahead of me. Places to go. Things to do.”

And without fail I talk back to my television.

“No, you don’t! You don’t have a long life ahead of you. Lady, look in the mirror. Smell the coffee. You just said you were sixty years old! All things being equal, you’ll be dead in less than twenty years!”

And yet, people her age and my age have been given SUCH a gift. The gift of time and impact. A gift that many younger than us were denied. So like the lines from one of my favorite movies, in which the major character expresses his gratitude to his employees and friends; at a birthday party they have arranged for him.

“I’m going to break precedent, and tell you my ‘one candle wish’…that you would have a life as lucky as mine, where you can wake up one morning, and say, ‘I don’t want anything more.’”

(and)

“Sixty-five years. Don’t they go by in a blink?” (“Meet Joe Black”)

The longer I live, the exceedingly more grateful I continue to be for having experienced such a comparatively long and incomparably rich life on God’s good earth.

And on a daily basis I pray that I may successfully fulfill the remainder of the destiny which God dreamed for me before He spoke the worlds into place, and before

…I become someone else’s memory.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright Pending

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