Color-man, 17 June, Rome, Italy
Memory is often sweeter than experience. I've returned to Rome after three years, quite unexpectantly. We never planned to be here on this trip. I was in the city in 2002 with my family on our trip around the world. We stayed nearly five days at a spacious hostel, reveling in the Italian cuisine and history. It was our first resting place on a long trip, and I remember it fondly. The local ristorante made excellant spaghetti, and the waiter took a liking to our family. (I think it was because of Sara's dimples and curls.) We even took a picture with him.
Last night, as Sam and I scrambled to find a cheap hostel at nearly midnight, we stumbled across the same old ristorante, waiter and all. Eating pasta under that same light, with the old smells drifting in, drew out some delicious memories. I remembered the whole feel of that life-changing trip, but more than that I remembered remembering. The month after our return from that trip was full of stabs of remembrance. At school or at the dinner table, I would close my eyes and return to the adventures. It was like the warm feeling in your belly after some wine; the taste going down was good, but how much more so afterwards! That warmth came flooding back last night.
Memories don't decay, unless you let them. They grow stronger with age. Even if you do forget for a year, two years, twenty years, a small man at the back of your head keeps the file. Occasionally, he falls asleep, but all you must do is return to the right place, or wave the right smell beneath his nose, and he will pop up and take you for a royal ride.
Think back to the times when you felt God deeply--those rare moments when you were stabbed with joy. If you cannot remember this, and don't know what I'm talking about, perhaps you must first begin to form those experiences. It's like depositing money in the bank; you have to start somewhere to reap later on. But first, you must begin to know God. If you have been "surprised by joy," perhaps it's time to revisit those memories. Go back to that place. "Remember the signs!" as Aslan instructs Jill Pole.
What we need is a more diligent remembrance of his faithfulness, and of his promises. The Israelites wrote Psalms to remember Him as they ascended the mountain of Jerusalem. We don't need to repeat the past--that's impossible. We must, though, remember the signs.
I began writing this as Sam disappeared into the Colloseum. I'm waiting outside; it's 11 Euros. Where is he?
Drew
Last night, as Sam and I scrambled to find a cheap hostel at nearly midnight, we stumbled across the same old ristorante, waiter and all. Eating pasta under that same light, with the old smells drifting in, drew out some delicious memories. I remembered the whole feel of that life-changing trip, but more than that I remembered remembering. The month after our return from that trip was full of stabs of remembrance. At school or at the dinner table, I would close my eyes and return to the adventures. It was like the warm feeling in your belly after some wine; the taste going down was good, but how much more so afterwards! That warmth came flooding back last night.
Memories don't decay, unless you let them. They grow stronger with age. Even if you do forget for a year, two years, twenty years, a small man at the back of your head keeps the file. Occasionally, he falls asleep, but all you must do is return to the right place, or wave the right smell beneath his nose, and he will pop up and take you for a royal ride.
Think back to the times when you felt God deeply--those rare moments when you were stabbed with joy. If you cannot remember this, and don't know what I'm talking about, perhaps you must first begin to form those experiences. It's like depositing money in the bank; you have to start somewhere to reap later on. But first, you must begin to know God. If you have been "surprised by joy," perhaps it's time to revisit those memories. Go back to that place. "Remember the signs!" as Aslan instructs Jill Pole.
What we need is a more diligent remembrance of his faithfulness, and of his promises. The Israelites wrote Psalms to remember Him as they ascended the mountain of Jerusalem. We don't need to repeat the past--that's impossible. We must, though, remember the signs.
I began writing this as Sam disappeared into the Colloseum. I'm waiting outside; it's 11 Euros. Where is he?
Drew
posted by Unknown at 11:22 PM
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