“Remember this day in which you went out from Egypt, from the house of slavery; for by a powerful hand the Lord brought you out from this place…”
I’ve been meaning to write this for some months now. I could say truthfully that I’ve neglected doing so out of laziness or simple procrastination. Or I could explain that it’s taken me this long to really begin practicing the thing that I’m writing about, and it took that realization to bring it to the forefront of my mind. Maybe the Lord didn’t want me writing about it until it had actually settled into my heart more effectually.
Today I want to write about remembering.
One evening in September of 2021 I sat with my head bowed in the living room of a friend, listening half-heartedly to my brothers and sisters worshipping our Father around me. I sat and talked with God as I usually do, with honesty, as I continued to try and think my way through yet another bout of depression. It had been a pattern in my life since I was a teenager, spending my average days with more energy than nearly anyone else in the room, smiling more than others, laughing more — yet slipping always back into the valley of the shadow of death after some months. Each time I ended up in that place I knew that I would probably come out of it at some point, yet my return seemed just as certain. Coast, plummet, plateau; coast, plummet, plateau. Each time I fell, I found it easier to stay down, easier to accept that this was my normal. Despair became my normal. And in 2016 I planned to end my life, because the pattern I had noticed in it said that I would inevitably end up spending more and more of my days in the dark valley, and I had not the strength to keep climbing back up, knowing that another plunge was coming.
Finding myself in Arkansas in 2017 in desperate search of a home, I found family that helped to carry the burden of depression I’d felt so alone under. They helped me to carry the load, and yet it was still there, and I began to accept that it would likely always be there, and that while I was learning to cope with its weight, it was foolish to think I could simply be rid of it. “Perhaps this is my thorn,” I would say to myself.
This pattern continued through the summer of 2021, when I again found myself in that horrible valley. The dark felt denser and deeper than it had the previous time. Even while surrounded by people who I knew loved me deeply, I couldn’t muster up in myself the motivation to keep trying, keep pushing onward. I was numb. I wanted desperately to scream and weep and punch holes in the wall, yet I couldn’t. No strong emotions were able to leave the pit of my shrinking heart anymore. No matter how true I thought the love of God was, it somehow wasn’t enough.
So I sat there in that same spot all evening surrounded by family. And as the night drew to a close and their voices were raised in song, with my head bowed and my eyes shut tight, I felt a hand laid upon my shoulder, and the voice of someone who loved me began praying over me. And through his words, I heard the voice of my Father. He told me that He loved me, and reminded me of what I knew to be true, but had stopped believing. He reminded me of the life I’d lived, and what I’d seen Him do for me. He reminded me of the pattern He had shown. And He challenged me: that no matter what other humans did to me, or what they failed to do, I could never deny His love which had surrounded me always, unless I forgot the things He had done. He urged me to remember. And I wept.
“Remember what I’ve done for you, Joel. Remember how I’ve loved you.”
I think there is a difference between knowing something as true, and believing it. You can get knowledge from a textbook, but belief is something that must be tested. I knew that the Lord loved me, I’d read it hundreds of times, heard from friends and pastors and teachers thousands of times. I knew it to be true, and yet I see now that I didn’t really believe it. Belief changes us. It’s all well and good to know that the bungee cord will hold, but quite another thing to jump off the cliff with it as your only lifeline.
The Lord taught me that night that remembrance is a practice, something that we must actively do. All throughout the Scriptures He urges His children to do this, to remember what He did for them. Because He knew they would forget, and wander into the valley of the shadow of death. He knew I would forget.
And so the call to remember has been brought to my mind continually over the last twelve months — and it has been the longest I’ve gone without returning to that valley since I was a teenager.
I’ve wanted tattoos for a number of years, and yet never prioritized getting them. It turns out I just needed the right reason, and some friends to help me. I knew last September that I wanted the word “remember” on my body, knew that the prompt would be helpful. And so this past July when a tattoo party was being planned, I eagerly joined in.
And so on July 20th, 2022, I permanently attached to my body the call to remember, and consider. Remember being all about the story I’ve just related, and consider being tied to it, as the thing Jesus asks us to do in response to worry creeping into our lives.
“Consider the ravens, for they neither sow nor reap; they have no storeroom nor barn, and yet God feeds them; how much more valuable you are than the birds! And which of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life’s span? If then you cannot do even a very little thing, why do you worry about other matters? Consider the lilies, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin; but I tell you, not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass in the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, how much more will he clothe you?”
In the last few months my resolve to obey this call to remembrance has been tested. And finding myself again in a place to intentionally recall what the Lord has done in my life, I once again find Him sufficient. The cares of this life are cares indeed, and burdens to bear are not to be ignored. Yet when I look to my Father, when I choose to trust Him, and believe that He is at work, then do I experience His peace. If I do not trust Him, then I cannot know lasting peace.
I write all this to relate a story to you, but not without purpose. I write this to encourage you to look intently at your own life, and ask how the Lord has shown His love to you. Ask Him, test Him and see if He will not come through. And when He shows to you His deeds of great love, bind them upon your arms, and write them upon the tablet of your heart, that you may not forget.
love,
— Joel
Special thanks to Marina, Davis, Clara, Gael, Missie, Ian, Griffin, Sophia & Alberto
Geeky Things
Camera: Fujifilm X-Pro2
Lens: XF 35mm f/1.4
Location: Northwest Arkansas
Notes: All of these images were shot in JPEG, just quick snapshots to capture the evening, and give me even more to remember. Most of them were taken by me, but of course there are some in this set that my friends captured. I will always be grateful for these photos, not because they’re my greatest work, or are technically the best images, but because they recall a day when I chose to commemorate something worthwhile, and I did it with people around me whom I love. Davis wrote the words on my arms with a skin marker, and Marina did the tattooing. I wouldn’t have it any other way if I could.