Some would say memory brings life after death. Perhaps there’s truth in that, but only if we’re content to enjoy our recollections at soft distance, as passing flickers or occasional sparks. If we’re grasping and desperate, if we want it all too much, if we reach out and try to touch it, what happens then? It fades so fast from view that we’re left wondering if it was ever there at all. Perhaps the trick is to find a gentle use for memory. Learn to cup the small and glorious moments in our hands and treasure them, finding some solace this way. Otherwise, all they do is remind us that we are too late. That what is lost is lost forever.
From Emylia Hall’s The Book of Summers (pg. 323)
Michael Washington 
My sweet thirteen year old and I sat in an idling car last night, after a long drive home from youth group. The drive was uneventful, filled with idle banter and teasing that he might find a spelling book in his stocking this year (past English teacher that I am, I shudder at our reliance on spell check, and he pokes at me for it), and then, like a sudden fall breeze, memory swept in. And we found ourselves suddenly in tears, and grasping at meaning, and wonder. Although we ended with a normal “good night” after a long hour of holding hands and sharing and sorting, my heart was still seeking to say… something. And then, this morning, I read this. And I printed it. And I’m signing it, “Saw this today. You see, our God listens. Love, Mom” Thank you for following your tug to post this quote.
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My pleasure, Alissa.
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