Take comfort that you too will never be forgotten

Do you know what “squirm humor” is? That’s when we laugh at something because its truth makes us squirm a little (or a lot).

One bit of squirm humor I first learned after starting my career in nursing home social work was this: “Of all the things I’ve lost in life, I miss my mind the most.”

After watching some of the wonderful folks who live easily in their dementia-created world, I changed that squirm humor a bit: “Of all the things I’ve lost in life, I miss my mind the least.”

Both phrases seem to be true for different people, and at different times. Today, when I want us to reflect on the broader observance of Memorial Day, both phrases seemed to hold some truth for us all.

I know Memorial Day was begun so we would remember military personnel who have been killed in battle. We certainly have fresh, daily reminders of who we must remember as we watch news reports of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. We also do well to remember those who died in previous wars in which our country fought.

But today, I want us to also remember people in our own families who have died for various reasons. I want us to remember ourselves as we continue to grieve.

I also want us to realize that God doesn’t forget, either. In fact, God remembers to hold us in hands of compassion and courage, always preparing us to live more abundant lives.

Earlier this week, Spokesman-Review columnist Rebecca Nappi wrote a touching story of one man and his friends who live in various Palouse farming communities. They have found tangible ways to remember their loved ones who died while defending our country. Stories like these are plentiful in our area, across our country, even across the world.

It is part of our being human that we remember those whom we love, regardless of how they may have died. At this very moment, our region’s grief is focused on the Groene family members and their friend who were brutally murdered east of Coeur d’Alene nearly two weeks ago. As I write, two of the children still are missing.

The grief and anger are so fresh. Fear for the missing children is palpable. I have no doubt that even after this tragic incident is fully resolved, there will be so many people whose memories will hold the Groene family in love for decades to come.

One of the biblical passages I frequently use at funeral or memorial services comes from Isaiah 40. It is a poetic and powerful reminder that God’s memory of her creatures never slips away. Our lives are very fragile. Isaiah compares us to grass, to flowers that bloom and so quickly fade away.

But God doesn’t forget us. Isaiah 40:26, 28-31 tells us: “Lift up your eyes on high and see: Who created these? He who brings out their host and numbers them, calling them all by name; because he is great in strength, mighty in power, not one is missing …

“Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless.

“Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will all exhausted; but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”

God’s memory of his beloved children is unshakable. And because it is, we are told that God’s promise of renewed life is also unshakable. God will not forget us.

That’s good news indeed for us when we grieve those we love, when we fear their lives and their deaths will blow away like the fuzz from a dead dandelion. But that is not the plan of God for the children of God.

Whether we miss our minds the most or we miss our minds the least, we are not forgotten by this unfathomable God who creates us, sustains us, and remembers us always.

Earlier this week, a friend mentioned a quote without a source: “Death is the end of a life, not a relationship.” That certainly makes sense to me, especially as we struggle to find any kind of meaning in the death of someone we love.

The physical life we knew and depended on may be gone, but the relationship will remain fresh and strong. That is – for some reason unclear to us – the way God has constructed life to be.

Perhaps God simply continues what is most important: the memory of a relationship.