Rooted in Memories

I can tell Christmas is coming by the flood of magazines in my mailbox.

Everyone wants a little piece of my holiday spending, and they try all kinds of tricks to persuade me to buy their merchandise.

This week, a magazine boasted personalized needlepoint stockings, just like grandma used to make, alongside the words, “Think of the memories they’ll hold.”

This really is an unfair hit when you think of all the moms, grandmas, aunties, and female relatives out there who make their whole holiday hustle all about building memories for their beloved children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, etc. 

I have been sucked into this myself as I try to think about what memories my children will have of their Christmases. I want them to be good ones, rich with meaning and value. I often think about the children in my neighborhood and wish I could give them all good memories for Christmas.

Ultimately, though, as a Christian, I have to come to grips with the truth that I can’t customize someone else’s memory bank. I don’t get to handpick what my children remember or forget.

My own memories of Christmas time are filled with golden light and joyful laughter, but I have a few sorrowful memories too. No one put those there on purpose, but there they are. I treasure them as well as the joyful ones because all of my memories meld together into one big piece of evidence for the presence of God, who came to earth to be incarnated as a baby to save my sinful soul. 

Paul’s prayer for the Ephesians was that they would be “rooted and grounded in love.” He didn’t pray that they would be rooted and grounded in their memories of him, of their time spent together, or of the holidays they spent together. Paul wanted them to remember foremost that Christ dwelt in their hearts through faith and that this was the foundation they would need to grow into kingdom citizens who would grow to know the love of God more and more as they shared it with others. 

I recently visited with a young man who had attended my Sunday school class as a boy. He probably could dwell on many painful childhood memories, but the day I visited him, he had one very vibrant memory he wanted to share.

“Do you remember when you helped us make resurrection rolls for Easter?” he asked.

Yes. I have made the dough many times and helped many little hands roll a marshmallow in spices and “bury” it in the lump of dough. When it bakes, the marshmallow melts, and children are amazed at the empty tomb!

“I remember that all the time,” he said, “and it helps me know that Jesus is alive.”

What if every effort we poured into the holidays was to help our little ones know that Jesus is alive? We can’t pick and choose which memories they will carry with them into adulthood, but we can give them the firm foundation from which “to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that [they] may be filled with all the fullness of God.”