What do you remember?

I love Donald Miller. His latest book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, is really profound and incredible in so many ways. I recommend you read the entire book, but this post is going to be about a paragraph in the very first chapter.

Miller notes how little of life we actually remember - only a tiny fraction of a fraction of all the minutes and days we live. He says that his friend, Bob, writes down everything he remembers. Every minute detail, and Bob has filled more than 500 pages with his memories.

"He's the only guy I know," writes Miller, "who remembers his life. He said he captures memories, because if he forgets them, it's as though they didn't happen; it's as though he hadn't lived the parts he doesn't remember."

How much of life do you remember? Sure, you remember the big things, like major birthdays, weddings, trips to Disney World. But life is made up of thousands of small moments, of seemingly meaningless choices and habits and routines. Why are you the person you are now? It seems that we are made up of memories, and if we forget, we won't know who we really are.

One of my greatest regrets in life is not writing down my Grandpa's stories when I had the chance. Now I have to try to remember them on my own. That is why I'm going to start blogging about my memories this summer. Let's call it the Summer of Stories. I'd like to say that I'll write one every day, but I'm trying to be realistic here, so let's just say I'll try to post as often as possible. No memories are off-limits, whether they be childhood adventures or moments of teenage angst. I'll try to make sure there's some semblance of a point to everything. Please join in the fun by posting your own memories in the comments section.

As Miller continues, "The thing about trying to remember your life is it makes you wonder what any of it means. You get the feeling life means something, but you're not sure what. Life has a peculiar feel when you look back on it that it doesn't have when you're actually living it."

I'm looking forward to looking back. Hehe. :)

The Story of We

My grandpa told stories. Action, romance, mystery – I was captivated by them all, even those I could quote by heart. He told stories of his life, his adventures in the Navy, how he met my grandmother. She used to come in and tell him to leave me alone, that I’d heard all the stories before. I’d grin, and wait for grandpa to continue. I wanted to hear them all again and again, because not only were the stories special, so was the storyteller.

As humans, we understand our lives by telling and listening to stories. We relate to each other through these narratives, not cold, hard facts. This is the essence of Walter Fisher's Narrative Theory, the theory that prompted me to pursuit a graduate degree in Mass Communication. Sometimes, when deadlines are looming both at school and at work, it is easy to forget the bigger picture, to get so caught up in the details of this specific sentence and chapter that I forget where the story is headed.

When I step back, I realize the point of the story is I have a new life in Christ. His story tells of his never-ending love and faithfulness. It's beautiful and intricate and breathtaking. If I lose sight of that, and forget to share that story, then the little chapter I am focusing on and laboring over so intently is not going to make much sense. No one will have any idea what the story is all about, and I'll miss out on the amazing stories others have to tell.

This week, I encourage you to consider your story. What is its theme, its purpose? Perhaps, like me, you become so focused on the syntax that you forget the plot. Remember and share your story, and pursuit the stories of others. You may be surprised at the epics we take for granted.

lessons of the week

• Extra Hot Rotel is not an acceptable substitute for salsa. Though it may be suitable if you have misplaced your neti pot.

• If you ever need help fast, call a friend, not the police department. Arrival time of Jason, Katie, Bryan, Ruth, & Cara: 8 minutes. Arrival time of Chattanooga's finest: 30 minutes. The PD's number will go into my phone, but the others just got promoted to speed dial.

• The first few months of marriage aren't pie in the sky by and by. Those comments of "Oh, it'll all be glorious for a while, then reality will come crashing in" can be ignored. Reality has no grace period.

• "Home" is a completely different concept to different people, even different generations. My grandmother's generation lived much more permanently than mine or even my parents'. Home to her is the specific house she shared with my grandfather for so many years, and she is grieving over the leaving of simple things like azaleas and forsythia bushes. My mother's ideal home is one with her children living nearby. And I'm just longing for a home with a little bit of stability, one that can keep me and my husband in the same place for more than a few days at a time. Really though, I think we're all yearning for the same thing. We were created for a better Home.