Surviving the Dark Valley - Take Hold of the Rope and Remember
In my last post, I shared four themes that ran through my conversations with our children as we were grieving. These four themes serve as four strands that form a rope of sorts to guide you through the valley of the shadow. They are summarized in 4 big ideas: Remember, Listen, Try, and Believe.
This week I want to help you grab hold of the first strand - Remember. We’ll explore intentional remembering both individually before the Lord, and then with your children. If you’ll permit me, I’ll start with my own remembering of my big brother’s life.
These Things I Remember
I Remember. I remember my big brother, Matt Davis.
I remember he always seemed to see me. Being the youngest of four and eight years his junior, I looked up to my big brother as a beacon of maturity and awesomeness.
I remember one day realizing that he and I were the only kids in the family who liked green peas. He gave me a high five and dubbed us the “pea pals”. It is so funny to think how much pride I felt in that moment. That may be one of my earliest memories.
I remember sitting in the stands as he played Living Stones High School basketball, awestruck by his intensity. He never pushed me away from coming to hang out awkwardly in the moments after the game. His teammates, to my delight, called me “Little Davis”.
I remember watching in awe as he drove my grandfather’s tractor. He let me climb up with him and he’d show me how it worked.
I remember when he learned to drive. He’d sometimes take me with him to run errands.
I remember the day he left for college. He gave me his high school letter jacket before he left. I wore it all through junior high.
I remember his wedding day where he married Sharon, the love of his life, and they let me be a junior groomsman.
I remember the day he became a father, and I an uncle.
I remember his white coat ceremony where he became a doctor, following in the footsteps of our parents.
I remember his laugh, more for its effect than its sound. It was the most inviting laugh.
I remember his couch, late nights, long talks, and his (and Sharon’s) unhurried and warm hospitality.
I remember his humble confidence in life, in loving his wife and children, and in leading in his profession.
I remember his persistent encouragement to me. Somehow he always saw more in me than I saw in myself.
God’s Perfect Memory
I remember Matt Davis, even tonight as I write this, through tears. Tears, partly because I miss him still, more than seven years after his death. And partly because I don’t remember more. How many more of those treasured moments have slipped out of my mind like water from my hands?
Human minds can’t hold moments forever. But God remembers them all. God knows every moment. He holds every memory. He must! He is God! He is all-knowing, remembering every hair, tear, inside joke, and small kindness.
“Human minds can’t hold moments forever. But God remembers them all. God knows every moment. He holds every memory.”
In the mind of God, every moment in the universe is crystal clear. From the furthest unknown cave on the smallest unknown moon of the smallest unknown planet, all the way to the dinner table banter of an average family in a small Texas town where a big brother helped his little brother feel less small. Galaxies, sparrows, molecules, and Matt Davis. Each documented perfectly in the eternal and infinite, yet kind and personal, mind of God.
God remembers my brother. He knit him together. He formed and numbered his days. He saved him. He kept him. He gave him purpose and relationships and laughter and love.
My memories are dim reflections of God’s memories. My affections but a shadow to his substance. Every beautiful moment I’ve forgotten is held safe in his mind. One day, I hope I can ask for the stories from the Author of them all.
God remembers! Hallelujah.
Learning to Remember
In the meantime, I want to be learning from my Heavenly Father, even in my remembering. Purposeful remembering is an indispensable aspect of how we come to terms with a loss. We grab hold of our stories of the past, and carry them into a wildly and painfully different world. This uncomfortable exercise, reaching backwards for memories and pulling them forward into our present sorrow, strengthens the unwanted muscles of grief. It reminds us that we can stand in the present yet again, grateful even in our pain.
How shall we start? My guess is, you’re already doing it!
1. Let yourself remember.
“One day we’ll stroll dry-eyed into a harvest of laughter and joy, seeing the wisdom and compassion of the Author, even in the saddest pages of our story.”
This may be the hardest part! What once were fond memories are now mingled with sorrow. Each time you open those holy memories, the pain of the present floods in like air leaking into a vacuum sealed bag. Those who love bear sorrows, but we dare not leave those memories tucked away. God knows this better than all his creatures. But pain and death do not win, dear brothers and sisters. Don’t be afraid to remember. God knows your tears, and he’s making all things new. One day we’ll stroll dry-eyed into a harvest of laughter and joy, seeing the wisdom and compassion of the Author, even in the saddest pages of our story.
Make some time to remember. Ideally, set aside a day or two (or whatever minutes and hours you can spare) for reflection, writing, and purposeful remembering. Call mutual friends. Visit old stomping grounds. See what memories arise, and then curate, collect, and reflect on them. Bringing your memories into the present will equip you to share them with your children, so that they might remember with you.
I’m a preacher, and I usually exegete (or extract meaning from) the text of scripture, asking “what is the meaning of the text?” For me, purposeful remembering looked like exegeting a life. What did this life mean? What did the one I lost show me about God’s heart? What mark did they leave on your life? What do you want your children to remember most? Use my remembering above as a guide, or read through the eulogy I wrote for my brother here.
2. Help your children remember.
Ask them questions! Remind them of stories. Tell them new ones. Memories are often tied to senses, places, and people. Go to the places you visited together. You’ll be amazed at the memories that open up. Eat the food they loved. Listen to the music that they raved about. Look through old pictures. Show them old videos.
Those memories matter to their little hearts as they process the loss in their way. Every memory you honor in front of your children forges new connections from the past to the present. Share what you’ve learned through your own purposeful remembering. Preach the sermon you found through your exegesis of their lives. Perhaps preaching sounds scary. Maybe just tell the story of their life, teach the lesson they taught you, paint the picture they left for you, or give the gift they gave to you. Your goal is to help them understand and value the one they are grieving by purposefully embedding these memories with meaning and love.
3. Set up rhythms of remembering.
Grief knows the calendar well. Birthdays, holidays, and anniversaries of death are built in rhythms, reminding you to remember. Allow them to sweep you away into the past for a moment. Expect grief. Pull out the old journals. Tell a good story. Watch a delightfully awkward family video.
What dates or times do you need to set aside as times of intentional remembering? How will you prepare your kids for those moments of grief and fond memories? Remember, there is no shame in grief. However, your children should know that some days are harder than others. Your weakness or sadness on those days or seasons will be confusing to your kids if you don’t let them know what’s happening. Let them in! Share some stories of moments you’re grateful for, or memories you can laugh at on those days.
4. Raise an Ebenezer.
God’s people often left stones behind to remind them of the help of God at key moments in their lives. These Ebenezers, or “stones of help,” stood to keep the memory of God’s grace alive in the hearts and minds of his people. There is something powerful about a place to remember.
In the wake of my brother’s loss my family planted trees, started nonprofits, dedicated houses, created videos, curated photo albums, sang songs, wrote poems, and shared reflections. My youngest son, born a few months later, bears his name. We all looked for ways to honor the man we loved. We longed for ways to carry his memory forward in a tangible way. These acts gave us (and our children) a place to set down our memories for safe keeping, that we may return and remember again and give thanks to God for the gifts he has given.
As you’re doing all this, encourage your kids to participate. Have them write down stories, draw pictures, or make a memento to keep in their room. How might you set up a memorial or a monument of remembrance, to look back and thank God for the good gift of shared lives and love?
One of my most enduring memories of Matt is that he always told me to write. I always told him I’d write when I had something helpful to say. So this one here is for my big brother. My own Ebenezer of sorts. May it bless you and help you and your little ones on the road to glory, even as it winds through the valley of the shadow.