Monday, September 26, 2011


I keep memories.  Lots of them.  Scrapbooks, boxes, folders and journals with stories of life that I pray one day will fall in to an order that will make sense to my kids someday.  I have dreams of them flipping through the pages and knowing the history of their first steps, how Mama and Papa met or what life was like as the grew up.  I have always done this and I probably wouldn't know how to stop, even if I wanted to.

But life isn't slowing down and there comes a time when you must get rid of some things before you end up on that show Hoarders.  During spring cleaning, I found a box filled with old letters and emails I had printed for the purpose of keeping to record history.  They were from a wide assortment of people and it was really quite fun to read over them and relive a few fun moments of the past.  Mixed in the tall stack were some from my husband when we were in the dating stages.  Those were special.  Those I set aside to read with him later.

Yeah right.  Like I have patience.  After sorting for a few more minutes and tossing 75% of the stack that were just forwards I apparently thought were funny/historical, I thumbed through the treasure pile.  On the top was hillarious poem I wrote about his willingness/comfort to fart in front of me and how important that made me feel.  I know...odd.  Don't judge us.  ;)  Following the "cute" rhyme was a collection of emails and quick notes filled with angry and sarcastic words that we shared about who knows what.  It hurt to read the words.  In an instance, I felt unloved by the man I have been married to for nearly seven years.  The man I KNOW loves me.  Sitting on the floor of my bedroom, pouring over these ink filled pages, I was questioning his love and how we ever made it this long.  My hurt turned to anger and then to guilt and then who knows where.  I was a wreck.  And then he walked in.

Unprepared for the emotional onslaught that was headed his way, he smiled at me and asked what the heck I was doing.  I handed him one letter, watched him read it and then twinged a bit as he laughed it off.  "What was I even talking about?" he asked me as he casually handed it back.  I didn't know.  I just knew that he wasn't happy with me in that letter and it hurt that he ever even thought of me that way.  Ever.

The evening went on and my heart was still hurting about past hardships we had had.  I was needy for his loving attention and for him to tell me how much he loved me...all because of my stoopid trip down memory lane.  In my pity party, God interupted.  It was like he was reminding me that we all have an ugly past.  In the middle of my pity party, it was like there was this awesome slideshow of our lives and how far God had brought us.  Not only together as a couple (which in itself is a miracle) but how God had changed each of us in such huge, individual ways.  Yes, we had some horrible conversations via written word (and spoken) but we are here, now, with each other and with God leading our lives and our relationship.  It is clear that without him, the institute of our marriage would either have crumbled or not lasted much longer.  But He interupted.  And saved us from ourselves. 

And that history I can't seem to let go of?  That simple criss-cross-applesauce moment on the floor really affected me.  When God promises us that He will seperate our sins as far as the east is from the west...He does.  Maybe I should be more forgiving as well.  Yes it was a part of our story but who really needs to see the exact details?  We have forgiven each other, we have moved on and we have seperated our past from the hope that God has promised us.  And that iself, is better than any scrapbook.


No comments:

Post a Comment