I Want Him to Remember . . .

 Someone recently asked this question:

 

 

 

I’ve been pondering this question for days. There are few things that pop into my head immediately . . . 

 

I want Ben to remember love.

 

I want Ben to remember joy.

 

I want Ben to remember grace.

 

 

Not the oft impatient, frequently grumpy, sometimes too busy, distracted by other things, me.

 

I want him to remember the love-giving, joy-giving, grace-giving me. 

 

I want him to remember that no matter how he acted, what mistakes he made, or how difficult some days were, that he was loved. I want him to remember that I was there at the very moment he asked Jesus into his heart and received the ultimate gift of love. 

 

 

 

 

I want him to remember the moments of pure delight. I want him to remember how we stopped at the Humane Society just to play with the puppies. Often.

 

 

 

 

 I want him to remember that he got lots of hugs and kisses and snuggles and tickles. All. the. time.  (from both me and Dada)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And how we went out for ice cream a lot (PJ run!!!!). Just because he loves ice cream. (I know you’re wondering . . . that’s a ginormous piece of chocolate from his ice cream cone. really.)

 

 

 

 

I want him to remember how he made me smile. Every day. And how I made him smile, too.

 

 

 

 

I want him to remember how much fun we had doing simple things . . . like baking a pumpkin pie . . . 

 

 

 

 

shopping for Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes every November . . . 

 

 

 

 

and going on fun vacations and field trips.

 

 

 

 

 

I hope he remembers getting money from the tooth fairy for every lost tooth (even after he stopped believing) . . . 

 

 

 

 

and how we canceled school, every time it snowed, no matter how much snow there was. 

 

 

 

 

I want him to remember that I held a snake, even though I despise them, and pretended that it was cool, just for him . . . just so he would have the courage to hold one, too. 

 

 

 

 

 

I want him to remember that I took him to see “Santa’s helper” every year until he was 10, to have a picture made. And that every year, I made sure the Santa was the same one from every year before. 

 

 

 

I want him to remember that I showed him grace, even when he didn’t ask for it. I hope that he remembers that I forgave him when he messed up, and that no matter what happened one day, the next day began with new mercies. Even after he chopped his hair with art scissors, just days before our professional photo session was scheduled. (and yes, I want him to remember his first pet, our barking cockatiel, Paulie)

 

 

 

 

Yeah, I want him to remember that.