Joy-filled Memory

“If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy.” (Ps 137:6 AV)

My Mom used to say, “if you don’t have anything good to say, then don’t say it at all.”  There is a lot of wisdom in that.  What we do need to see, though, is the relationship between what we choose to remember and that which we speak of.  The context is Israel in captivity.  The writer is lamenting the fact their captors wish them to sing the joyous songs of Jerusalem not understanding it is impossible to do so while they are so far away, and, without hope of return.  Yet, the Psalmist also understands that if he does not, with fondness, remember the city of his faith, he will cease to speak of it any longer.  It took the absence of something they took for granted to realize just how much they truly loved that city.  It took captivity to realize just how important their faith was and sorrow at its neglect.  That which we choose to dwell upon will be that which we will speak of.  More importantly, if we fail to speak of the LORD and all that He is to us is an indication we have found other joys.  But in the strictest of context, the way we get through the hard times of life is to remember, with fondness, how gracious God has been and how much He truly means to us.

I have only had the experience of a hospital stay three times in my life time.  Two of those times was as a child.  Once as an adult.  Of the two times in my adolescence, one sticks out more than the other.  The later, I was in for observation from a concussion.  My mother never left my side.  The other, a tonsillectomy, I was in a hospital about forty-five minutes from home.  In the first stay, I was in an observation room right next to the nurse’s station and I had the room all to myself.  The second, not so much. I had roomies from a horror flick.  It was a true nightmare.  This was back in the day when they kept you for a week.  I was in that hospital for about five days.  Not a pleasant time.  One thing that got me through it was looking out that huge window which reminded me of home.  It overlooked some woods and a neighborhood that was much like mine.  We were high enough in the building that I could see for miles.  I don’t know if was true or not, but my mom pointed me to the horizon and said our house was just over there.  I looked out that window and took by faith that my home was just out of sight, but it was there.  Lying on my right side, memories of my own bed, my street, my friends, etc. is what got me through that week.  It is that which I spoke of to the nurses.  To my roomies.

Dark days have a way of making us forget.  We forget of the home prepared for us in heaven.  We forget of the grace of God that is still present, yet undiscernible.  We forget of all the blessings of this life as well of the life to come.  Our eyes are cast down instead of out and up.  Remember!  Remember that nothing has changed between you and your Father in heaven.  Just because my mother could not be with me every moment of the day, did not mean she didn’t care or that she wasn’t with me in my heart.  God, unlike my mother, will never leave me nor forsake me.  Remember!