History’s greatest act of remembrance: the resurrection. Jesus didn’t remain forsaken in the tomb—the Father “remembered” and raised him from the dead. Through pardon for sin, Christ’s resurrection replaces the fear of death with the hope of endless life. If you are a Christian who fears death and its whispers of insignificance, find comfort in these words: “[The righteous] will be remembered forever. He is not afraid of bad news; his heart is firm, trusting in the LORD” (Ps. 112:6–7). 

Most days of our lives slip by, never to be remembered again. Nothing significant occurs; nothing stands out. Another ordinary day erased.

But some days are etched with an iron stylus.

July 8, 2005, began as an ordinary day. My dad, mom, and two sisters started a 600-mile drive across Texas to help my wife and me move. I had just completed my first year of medical school and looked forward to their arrival. We watched and waited. The hours ticked by as anticipation eventually melted into nervousness, then anxious speculation, then dread.

My family never arrived. That night, the 911 dispatcher confirmed our worst fear: they had all died.

Reeling at Remembrance

Weeping, I picked up my Bible and turned to the first passage that came to mind: “Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever” (Ps. 73:25–26).

The ordinary day was etched in tears, never to be erased.

The following weeks were filled with memorials, sorting a house, and selling a house. Grace infused these moments with friendships both old and new. Most of the car’s contents were destroyed by oil, but out of the wreckage God preserved all four Bibles and journals. The pages of his Word, prayer, and the presence of people carried me through the tempest.

During the twists and turns of that year, a weight of memory emerged that pressed down on me—a desire to remember and to be remembered. When my family died, I scrambled to write down anything I could remember about them: mannerisms, expressions, likes, dislikes. I wanted to hold on to these memories, but I quickly realized my limitations. I forgot. Others also forgot.

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