MEMORY
week 9 | may 17 - may 24
MEMORY
Memory is profound. It is indelible and formative. As we make memories we are only partially conscious of the lasting impact many of them will have. We carry with us the memories we have made as individuals, but of course the memories of ones close to us join with our own, laying down intertwined roots. Generation to generation, marriages, friendships, etc. This is why separation (by death or otherwise) from loved ones is so severe. Our sense of self—so accustomed to sharing the memory building journey with another—has to drastically shift. This is perhaps another difficult aspect of social distancing within the pandemic. Our typical pattern of making memories has changed as our communities have been altered.
It is a marvelous gift that even in the most dire and desolate times, we can recall the steadfast love of our Father from our past. Of course the Word gives us a collective memory to guide and shape us. And what’s more is God has given us the ability to know and remember our own stories, even without the aid of social media. Persons, using their own heart and mind and soul, can bring images, events, feelings to mind. Of course, memory, like all good gifts from the Father, have been marred by the fall—they can be untrue, burdensome or tragic, or for some individuals memory can be confused or even lost.
In this week’s creativity project we considered this concept of “memory.” Here you will encounter the 1988 World Series, Irish cliffs, carousels, Bob Dylan, 100 year old dresses, strawberries, Nine Inch Nails/Johnny Cash, several pieces honoring the tragic loss of a family member, an Appalachian waltz and more. Please be encouraged by the important vulnerability and creativity of your community.
My Three “Als”
Pam Keske
oil pastel
Allyse age 14, Alex age 9, Aleah age 4 walking on the pier in Ludington, Michigan. As a child my family vacationed in the Pentwater, Ludington area of Michigan every summer. This place held many of my happiest childhood memories. I remember being so thrilled my kids could experience this magical place as well. This picture captured their carefree joy and this piece has always been one of my favorite.
My Three “Als”
Pam Keske
photography
Allyse 21, Alex 16, Aleah 11. downtown Minneapolis celebrating Allyse's 21st birthday and Alex's 16th birthday. We went out to dinner and to a show. It was a great, memorable night with lots of laughter and a great music. It was fun to capture the same picture but at a different time and different place.
A River Ring
Sam Hamer
If like a silver rippled river caught
In constant coursing, it’s always changing,
Then can this hold the selfsame love that flowed
So bright when last you wore that moonlight white
And asked self-sure a pledge from me to be?
But wear this wider band, now grown from then,
Like waters flood with passing sharing streams
If not unchanged then all the more increased,
And washed we both be drowned beneath these waves.
If the river can't remember what springs
Or channels ran, or falls it fell before,
Let this remind while drifting, til someday
We'll see this ring and smile and sing and know
Where this began so many miles away.
The Cliffs of Moher
Marty Ochs
alcohol inks, pen & ink
A memory from a trip to Ireland 2019.
Four Church Homes Ages 0-17
Phil Olson
During my first 17 years of life I lived with my parents in 4 different homes called parsonages. These were homes owned by churches provided for the family of whoever was the current pastor. I was the only child in Maine and South Dakota, joined by my only sibling, a sister 8 years younger, when we lived in Brooklyn NY, and later in East Los Angeles. We experienced four long distance moves, because my dad was a pastor of small churches of 200 or less members, in a very small Presbyterian denomination, so when there were vacancies, wide searches occurred for new pastors.
These transitions were hard on my mother, but I look back at the relocations as great adventures, and a great personal benefit! It is from the privileged position as the pastors son, that I now understand my memories of these 4 small churches.
Being the pastor’s family provides you with a ready made group of friends, usually looking forward to your arrival, with open homes and open hearts! Our family was invited to many different homes, including large old mansions in Maine, farms in South Dakota, row houses in Brooklyn N,Y. and mass produced bungalows in East Los Angeles. All of these homes provided warm hospitality, interesting conversation, and often kids with games, toys and secret hiding places in and outside their homes.
The deepest memories I have were the friends I made with adults, willing to speak with me frequently and at length before and after church services. I believe their great interest in me was at least partially because I was often the only child around, particularly at the Sunday evening and Wednesday night services.
At only three years old, in Portland, ME …
Mother
Brenda Henry
photography
My mom from a couple years ago at 90 years old. She passed last July. This photo captures how she lives on in my memory.
Then & Now
Rebecca Willette
My mother shared these dresses with me. They have been worn by generations of girls in our family. They were first worn by my Grandmother and her sister when they were little girls, close to 100 years ago. The slips and pantaloons are long gone, and the original ribbons have been lost between all of the households they have been passed down to; but the dresses live on and tell their stories.
New memories were created this week when I had my little girls wear the dresses & bring them back to life once again.
Appalachia Waltz
Corrie Bascom
Memory
Steve Hunt
In this strange journey on earth
Before we return to the dust
I often wonder
Why the memories we store are so unjust?
We remember the hate, but forget the love
We recall the death, but not the birth
We retrieve the wrong, but not the right
We think on the pain, but not the mirth
We recall the faux pas, but not the delight
If I could go back to the garden
And do it all again
I would put the apple back on the branch
And walk naked with the wound fully stanched
49 Harvests and Counting
Phil Bickle
photography, poetry
As I create card’s for annual family events, they are opportunities to both reflect on the past and remember the future. How do Christians remember the future? By trusting in God’s promises of perpetual mercy, guidance, and provision for us. The photo is from Zoar, Ohio, where devout Christians maintained a cooperative community of faith from 1819 to 1898. At the center of their village they situated their community garden, and in the center of the garden they placed a tall evergreen to symbolize Christ, who ruled over their lives — and who still rules over us and all events today.
Text of card:
Every spring we do our thing
Frequent stops at garden shops
Dig and rake ‘til muscles ache
Sew the new and weeds eschew
Late or soon blossoms bloom
Cold and warm, draught and storm
Despite fears new fruit appears
Eye’s delight and appetite’s
Vintage wine aged 49
Still tills the soil, burns midnight oil
Hopes and prays through graying days
Sowing seeds to Eden’s Praise
Girl From the North Country
Sean O’Neil
If you're travelin' in the north country fair
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline
Remember me to one who lives there
She once was a true love of mine
If you go when the snowflakes storm
When the rivers freeze and summer ends
Please see if she's wearing a coat so warm
To keep her from the howlin' winds
Please see for me if her hair hangs long
If it rolls and flows all down her breast
Please see for me if her hair hangs long
For that's the way I remember her best
I'm a-wonderin' if she remembers me at all
Many times I've often prayed
In the darkness of my night
In the brightness of my day
So, if you're travelin' in the north country fair
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline
Remember me to one who lives there
She once was a true love of mine
Carousel
Cindy Schmickle
reflection
A carousel was historically an equestrian tournament among knights. Today a carousel is much more restricted in movement but can still be a place for great memories. I have taken wonderful rides with a 3 year old and a 53 year old; in the U.S. and in France; in good weather and in bad. In this unexpected season, as the calliope plays, we are only limited by our own imaginations.
Strawberry Heart
Lorri Eiswald
photography
One of my favorite memories from a sunny summer day when Lincoln excitedly showed me this heart-shaped strawberry he had discovered.
Blue Memories
Joel Bascom
10/15/1988
The bat cracked…the crowd roared.
The ball hung in front of us
and disappeared into the frenzied crowd.
Dad nearly tossed me off the fourth deck.
We ran to the car in the LA night.
Blue elation.
12/20/98
The swirling blue of Starry Night.
Dad stood next to me at MOMA.
I showed him the one building without a light…
“A lot of emotion in those strokes,” He said…
Blue Tears.
Dad-I miss making memories
Memory of Our First Sunday at Church of the Cross
Heather Ogren
It was a Sunday in October 2018. I was wearing my favorite pink sweater. And deeply grieving the loss of a hoped-for baby. We had miscarried the week before, just months after moving to settle here in MN.
The worship gave me space to feel my grief, a healing release. And the welcome gave me reason to hope.
We were pilgrims, two moves in two years, west coast to east coast to Midwest. We were on the tail end of a long and arduous season of training and equipping for Rob’s vocation. We were in the midst of growing our young family with Rose and Eden both in their toddler years and hoping for one more to add to our family. We were weary. A bit disoriented. Grieved.
But we were welcome. Lovingly embraced that first Sunday, though strangers among the family at Cross. The sincerity and warmth of the welcome ministered to deep places and gave us an experience of God’s promise to me when we had left Los Angeles two years prior. The Lord will watch over your going out and your coming in...He will keep you, tend to you, watch over you. (Ps. 121) We had gone out, and the welcome at Cross felt like we were coming in, welcome. And I have been so very grateful.
And My Daffodils Didn’t Bloom This Spring
Nancy Day
I so look forward to my daffodils’ yellow faces smiling up at the bright sun when I first visit my cabin every spring. But not this year- no flowers. The greenery is strong and healthy - but no flowers. My neighbor Rose’s daffodils are gloriously yellow and proudly lifting their faces sunward to echo the beauty of their Creator. But no flowers here. Years ago my favorite health guru Dr. R suggested that our gardens are attuned to our bodies and souls. They are living organisms gifted by our Creator to nourish and heal us. But this spring my daffodils didn’t bloom. ‘Tis the season of grief and anguish. My grandson John died on March 4th. My son Aaron may never be whole again. An unexpected and unexplainable tragedy. I’ve joined the club no mom ever wants to join. To carry the unfathomable grief that millions of mothers have carried over the centuries. There are no words. A broken heart does not come close. And my daffodils didn’t bloom. Oh, my Johnny Michael- a myriad of sweet memories.
I see your impish grin everywhere. I hear your newly masculine voice arriving an octave lower. I remember your tiny newborn body needing major heart surgery to survive- and you did. I see you wrestling on the floor with crazy Moses and then curled up in my bed with Mimi- your “therapy dog”. I remember you rescuing the little pine tree whose roots were trapped in a cement block. Your gentle heart so loved trees. I listen again and again to your piano recital songs- so easily memorized and played flawlessly. I recall our backyard “marathons”- 26 times around the perimeter. Remember your acrobatics on the rope swing? And the fire pit we built in the backyard. You delivered all the bricks in your little truck. Then there was our wild animal orphanage- so many little critters we rescued. Your gentle heart surfaced again. And how many water slides we flew down together- 60 mph! Remember asking “grandma, why do girls scream so much?” So many early morning visits to Trader Joe’s. Your breakfast and lunch choices so “tasteful”. You always had to climb to the highest branch on grandpa Marvin’s tree to pick the biggest most beautiful apples. Remember the Scrabble games with great grandma Esther? You were so patient with her. And the dozens- no hundreds of origami critters, birds and flowers you carefully folded for me (you loved those little critters) And how many bikes does one boy need John? You were the “bike master”- legs of steel!
Oh the memories.... Oh the anguish.... Oh the questions with no answers...Oh the tears.... And my daffodils didn’t bloom this spring. But the greenery is strong. Perhaps another season....
Hurt
Ochs Family
Johnny Cash Version (written by Nine Inch Nails)
A song about remembrance, remorse and second chances.
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way