What I Don't Remember

            What I don’t remember must fill volumes

            I’ve started the endless task of going through the stuff jammed into my office closet.  I did a few of the boxes from the floor—thank goodness for my son who can lift heavy boxes of papers, books, and miscellany—and now have turned to the top shelf.  Sunday’s sorting included pages from my Franklin Covey planners of 1999 and 2000 as well as random cards, notes, and letters from the 1990’s.

            The planning pages reveal the schedule of the busy single mom I was.  My planner was my brain and to-do list on all fronts:  work, home, and church.  I jotted down work meetings, student appointments, lesson planning reminders, and notes about which stack of essays to read and grade first.  Occasionally, I see a familiar student name, but most are minus the facial recall.  Grocery lists reveal my penchant for shopping the specials and using coupons, though I had forgotten about buying ten packets of Kool-Aid for a dollar.  Doctor appointments, school activities, packing lists for family trips, phone calls to make, board meetings and committee meetings to attend, Bible studies to lead . . . you get the idea.  There was even a lengthy Bible study on Exodus that appeared to use several sources.  I don’t remember preparing the study or leading the class.

            Evidently, I was involved in a coffee prayer (or was it prayer coffee) group that I sometimes led.  There are prayer lists for people I do not remember and Sunday notes from sermons long gone from my memory.  A stray poem or church newsletter rough draft or committee report show up here and there.  Unfamiliar names to call or projects to lead or tasks to undertake: it’s all in the planner.

            I keep only a few pages for future reference—the date I received my first (and incorrect, it turned out) diagnosis for the pain and fatigue that dogged my days.  The day Joseph broke his foot at Taekwondo class.  A sad poem, an upbeat Faith Promise testimony. The rest, literally hundreds of pages, I throw away.

            The random assortment of cards and letters from friends warm my heart, as do the homemade cards and notes my children made for me.  So much love, so many blessings that I had forgotten.

            And there is more to come.