Remembrance

    I have many more imaginary conversations than real ones. I have conversed with an imaginary sister,  a pseudo philosopher, a fictional enemy. My conversationalists have ranged from King Arthur to the friends of my coworker in the grocery store. In one of these imaginary conversations (taking place, ironically, at a bar--I've never been to a bar, but a story takes one to surprising places) I realized I was telling the character in my head something I needed to remember.
    I was commenting that it is easier to give happiness to a stranger than to a family member. For a stranger, a smile suffices; it may make his next second, next minute, or even next ten minutes better, depending on how aware he is. For a family member, our smiles are a part of ourselves, and to give them happiness takes more work--though the memory of it may last longer. The imaginary conversationalist asked me why it's worth it to make a stranger happy, when it only lasts seconds. Thinking about the answer, I asked him what we did that lasted? I asked him how much, in his life, would last; how many of his actions would be remembered even a month later? If humans did something only if it would last, we would do nothing at all. Nothing lasted past the flood, that I'm aware of; most of what we have left from the past are crumbling monuments and gradually altered stories. Nothing we make is eternal. Then I smiled and said that, as Christian, it was relief to have a God who remembered everything.
    Everything. Every time I've smiled at a stranger. Every time I've picked up litter and thrown it away. Every night I said I can't do anything else, and yet went upstairs and helped. Every good thing He has given me grace to do is written in His memory; and He does not forget.
    The flip side of that, of course, is that He remembers every sin. But that is covered, for me, covered and washed completely clean by the blood of Christ. I stand perfect before Him.
   Then, talking (with a real friend), she spoke of the nuggets God has been giving me, the things of joy when the days are dark. We spoke of how those built our faith, so that when the dark days were all that were left, I'd have something to hold to. But the trick was to remember them.
   The same is told in the Psalms. Over and over, when the circumstances are darkening to black, the king, the saint, would remember what God did in the past. That remembrance gave them hope, more, unshakeable faith that led to trust and even action, for the future.
Psalm 143:

For the enemy has pursued my soul;

he has crushed my life to the ground;

he has made me sit in darkness like those long dead.

Therefore my spirit faints within me;

my heart within me is appalled.

I remember the days of old;

I meditate on all that you have done;

I ponder the work of your hands.

I stretch out my hands to you;

   Remembrance. Remember, though the past is gone, beyond our reach, and though it does not change the circumstances of the future. Remember, because God has not changed from those past moments until the moment I am weeping in now; remember, because His love is as unchanging, overwhelming, demanding, and all-sufficient as it was then. I am still alive. I am still growing, and I am not defeated. There is in that fact proof to sustain me in the future, for the past should have had me by now. So I set this as my task, to go over the proof of God's faithfulness, to mark the times His victory is startlingly clear. To make His story my remembrance.