“I am always glad to see people jotting notes during a sermon, but I do agree with those preachers who have described the joy of seeing the pens slow and then stop as the listener is so drawn into the preaching that it becomes written on his heart instead of on a page.”

I have a memory like a…what do you call it? That thing in the kitchen you use to sift the stuff you want from the stuff you don’t. A sieve! That’s it. I have a memory like a sieve.

I joke about it at times, and about how I have to outsource remembering to Aileen since her memory is far superior to mine, but I can’t deny that it gets frustrating at times. It gets discouraging, too, like when I cannot remember even the highlights of experiences I’ve enjoyed, books I’ve read, or sermons I’ve been blessed by. (To be fair, there are benefits too, like when I cannot remember who has dissed me online, who has insulted me in real life, or the times I’ve agonizingly stuck my foot in my mouth.)

I suppose you could make the accusation that what I am about to say is just a coping mechanism, but I think there is more to it than that. I have come to take comfort in the reality that what I remember of an event is less important than what transpired during the event. What I remember of a book is of less consequence than what happened in my mind as I read the book. What I remember of a sermon matters less than what happened in my heart during the preaching of that sermon. Where I am prone to judge the impact or importance of something by what I remember of it days, weeks, or years later, I should place greater weight on what happened at the time and in the moment.

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