I saw a black and
white Cocker Spaniel today.
There I was doing
what I do every morning and every night; walking a two mile clip in the
neighborhood I know and love so well. The trees drew me to this place, and the name
is so characteristic of its attributes; Shadow Wood.
As I walked, I
noticed the little dog running up and down the fence line of a nearby house.
And immediately, I was transported back to a very different neighborhood.
Though scientists and movies have theorized the invention of Time Machines,
memory and old videos are about as close as we’re going to get.
Yes, that two-tone
Cocker Spaniel triggered a memory. Princess was a fine little dog, and (you
will think me sentimental), I still tear up when I think of her. Why, it’s been
half a century, and she’s been dust for almost as long. But no one can take
away my memories. I loved that dog.
I'll never forget the day I came home from school, and my mother was weeping. She sat me down and told me that my little Princess had been run over by a truck. The dump truck had been involved in some kind of road work nearby, and had been going to fast in a residential area. It seems my little pet took a notion to chase the vehicle, "and lost." My mother declares that the driver intentionally swerved to run over my dog. Granted, if anyone understands his frustration now, it would be me. For twenty years later, I was driving a delivery truck, and encountered one particular dog, day after day.
The mutt chased that big brown UPS truck every time I drove down Fifth Street, southeast. I hatched a plan that was much less dangerous to limb, and limb (or paw) than the dump truck driver's agenda had been. One particular day I visited the local 7-11 before driving down the afore-mentioned street. I bought the largest fountain Pepsi they sold.
I remember. I
found myself driving down that particular street, actually looking forward to
my encounter with “Spot.” Suddenly there he was, and I had the “ammunition”
sitting there on my dashboard.
No sooner had the dog begun his well-rehearsed chase, than I stopped the truck in the middle of the street. Well, what happened next is history. I bounded off the steps of that truck like a flash. I was hot on the dog's trail; Pepsi in my hand. By now you've guessed what happened next. I poured almost a liter of the stuff on that poor dog.
He never chased my truck again!
Memories last as
long as our gray matter continues to fire those nebulous electric currents
across thousands of synapses. God graced us with the power to remember. We are
“triggered” to remember. We have little choice in the matter.
God didn’t give us
a “Forgetter Mechanism”. Unless we develop Amnesia or Dementia, we remember. We
choose to dredge up the unpleasant things.
Sometimes I wish I could drill a hole in the heads of my clients and install a Forgetter Mechanism. It would be preferable to hearing words like, "I just can't forgive him" or "She deserves every vile word I've ever said, and I don't know when I'll be able to treat her decently again," or "He just brings it on himself."
I’m going to ask
God about Memories one day. It seems God has a Forgetter Mechanism. We read verses
like “He removes our sins as far as the East is from the West,” and “If we
confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to
cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
I’ve reached a
conclusion about our inability to forgive. We are to conduct ourselves as if we had been given a Forgetter
Mechanism. Memories linger long after our
choice to do the right or wrong thing.
Our precious
Savior took on himself the mortal clothing of a man. I love the verse, “We have
not a high priest who cannot be touched by the feelings of our infirmities, but
was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.” (Hebrews 4:15, KJV)
Yes, Christ took
on himself the nature of a man. He left His Forgetter Mechanism with the Father
for safe keeping. He was like us in every way. Sinful men nailed Him to a
cross. He might have destroyed them with lightning bolts and a legion of
angels, but He refrained Himself.
And He spoke the
most marvelous words, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” He
chose not to give sway to his
Unforgetter Mechanism.
I love the movie
“A River Runs Through It.” There is a line in that video that just rings true
with me. The Presbyterian minister stands behind his pulpit on a beautiful
Sunday morning. He is remembering a son; a prodigal son killed by gamblers many
years prior. The young man had run up thousands of dollars in gambling debts,
and his debtors had had just about enough.
The pastor looks tenderly over his congregation, and speaks such thoroughly elegant words:
"We are willing to help, Lord, but what if anything is needed? Either we don't know what of ourselves to give, or what we have to give is not wanted... But we can still love them. We can love completely without complete understanding."
Somehow I think
that kind of attitude is the secret. We must make allowances for one another.
We must short-circuit our Unforgetter Mechanism, and there is only one way; on
purpose. We cannot help the triggers. We cannot help the memories. But we choose what to do with the memories,
with the bitterness, with the pain.
While we cannot
choose to forget, forgiveness remains a choice.
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