The Rest of Your Story 16: What are your meaningful memories?

To start from part one, click here.

When you think of writing MY LIFE STORY it seems big and scary. Yes? Let's simplify it. 

Stories are just a series of experiences. And memories are just stored experiences. And experiences are really all about our senses.

Research has shown the strongest memories involve all five senses. In other words, God has physically wired us so that our senses are connected to our minds and emotions.

So don't start your story with, "I was born...." Rather, close your eyes and think of a meaningful experience. While you'll have hard ones, let's start with the happy.

Okay, got one in mind?

Now go through your five senses and write down one line for each. Let's try it together. One of the first things that comes to mind for me is sitting in the back of my grandparents' Christian bookstore as a child.

Sight - I see stacks of books I've gathered, my Grandma turning to smile at me.

Sound - I hear Christian music playing and the quiet chatter of customers.

Touch - I feel smooth pages and the softness of an old leather chair.

Taste - I taste a slightly stale doughnut, leftover from that morning.

Smell - I smell the loveliest mixture ever...paper, coffee, and Nana's lotion.

(Okay, I'm in bittersweet tears! Whew!)

 

Now ask yourself one question: Why is this experience important to my story? My answer would be, "Because I fell in love with Jesus and books in that back room and both have shaped who I am today."

Now you've got something really valuable. Compare that to what you might write without your senses: My grandparents owned a Christian bookstore and I spent hours in the back reading.

Flat. Empty. Just the facts, ma'am.

You don't need to record every moment you've lived. Just find the pulse. Every meaningful memory is a heartbeat in your story. Repeat this as many times as you'd like. Keep using single sentences or make paragraphs. Create a collection of individual memories or join them together as a book. Do whatever brings you the most joy.

And as for the rest of your story...

It works the same way. But instead of picturing the past, you're imagining the future. As Proverbs says, "As a (wo)man thinks in her heart, so is she." Don't be afraid to do a little dreaming with God. Then you can figure out S.T.E.P.s  with Him to go in that direction.

With every heartbeat, your story is already being written.

All you've got to do is put it into words.

___________________________________________________________________________

TODAY'S QUESTION: What's a meaningful memory in your story?

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[Elvera]

what is a meaningful memory in my story ?
something i treasure, or a compliment, anything that makes me feel special.

[Kerry]

My memory?
Surprising my parents and brothers with breakfast as a kid.

Sight: Dining table set up for breakfast complete with homemade menu, folded napkins and rose-coloured/gold plated wine glasses filled with cordial :)

Sound: Family slowing getting out of bed after me waking them up early!

Touch: Crisp tablecloth, cold cutlery and paper napkins...

Taste: lukewarm bacon and eggs

Smell: bacon and eggs (once even burnt plastic when I attempted cooking bacon in the microwave - sorry mum :) )

Why important to my story?
Looking back I can see that even as a child God placed in me a desire to serve others through hospitality - even now I still get joy out of cooking for my family.

[Kristen@Moms Sharpening Moms]

Spending time at my Grandma Rea's house

Sight: Grandma in her cozy kitchen or rocking chair

Sound: tea cups clinking, warm affirmations from her to me.

Touch: baking ingredients, Grandma playing with my hair, reading one of her countless books or magazines.

Smell: fresh baked cookies, fudge, divinity, etc. with hot coffee and tea. I can also still smell her Crabtree & Evelyn Magnolia lotion!

Taste: Fresh baked goodies (and some raw batter, too)! :) Hot tea for me.

Why is this important to me? Because it explains why I have a wicked sweet tooth!! LOL. OK, on a more serious note, because my Grandma Rea beautifully modeled unconditional love, encouragement, hospitality and service. She also handed down to me a love of baking and books!

[Becky]

My memory: the Sunday morning worship service at a high school winter youth retreat

Sight: the lodge, big open room, stone fireplace at one end, wood floor, walls decorated with signs and posters we had made over the weekend, our youth group seated in a circle -- some sitting cross-legged on the floor, others (with guitars) on chairs, our adult advisors joining right in with us.

Sound: the sound of one of many 1970's Christian folk songs we used to sing ...
"We're all gathered here
Because we all believe
If there's a doubter in the crowd
We ask you not to leave
Give a listen to His story
Hear the message that we bring
Feel the faith swell up inside you
Lift your voice with us and sing...
Accept Him with your whole heart
And use you own two hands
With one reach out to Jesus
And with the other, bring a friend..."

Touch: the feel of friends' hands as we joined them and prayed together.

Smell: the combined smell of wet winter gloves, hats, scarves -- and decoupage glue from our art projects the day before -- and breakfast being prepared by our hosts. :-)

Taste: the taste of homemade bread and juice from Holy Communion

Why is this experience important to my story? My faith was so young then but it was growing. I was learning though how important it is to get away and just think about Jesus and your relationship with Him. I got energized again at those times. I also found out that not all Christian music had to be a couple hundred years old and played on an organ. I still love the old hymns but contemporary Christian music speaks to me so much more.

What a special memory to recall. Thank you again, Holley, for this project.

Blessings!

[Jeanine]

Since my Mom was sick for a long time, I spent a lot of time living with my Gramma and Grampa. Waking up to Gramma making breakfast is a special memory to me. She always had cranberry juice, which I did not get at my own home. We took turns going to the cellar for canned fruit. My grandparents were older, but they were taking care of my two brothers and me. I felt so loved during a difficult time of my childhood. It had to be a lot of work for them, but they made it seem like a regular part of their lives.

[Marilyn]

My first Christian Motorcycle Association State Rally...

Sight: Hundreds of leather wearing, bike riding, tatooed Jesus "freaks" in an auditorium crying out and kneeling in prayer to God.

Sound: Greetings from new and old friends, worship music, awesome messages from the Lord, sobs of joy, rolls of laughter, voices raised in praise.

Touch: The warm hugs and handshakes of the many friends there. The touch of Jesus as many "first timers" went forward to give their hearts to Him.

Taste: The wonderful food provided by the camp where we stayed.

Smell: the campfires of all those people camping! The smell of nature on a warm August night.

Why was this important to me? Until I married my second husband,(loosing my first to cancer), I had never really expierenced anything like this. I had always sort of looked at "BIKERS" in a different light, a sort of dark and dim one.
THEN...I BECAME ONE! That first rally showed me it doesn't matter WHO you are...or WHAT you look like, God STILL LOVES YOU!

[Maura]

Wow! I could spend so much time on this one. Are any of you having trouble remembering, as I am? OK.

Nana's house and pretending to go to communion in her back bedroom behind the curtain...
Sight: the bright light coming in the window
Sound: the rustling of the curtain
Touch: the feel of the smooth cool fabric of the curtain against my skin
Smell: musty and dusty
Taste: the imagined taste of communion bread
This is so important to me because Nana was my role model of a woman of faith. She took me to Mass every morning. I wanted to be just like her.

[Jane]

One meaningful memory I have is bittersweet. I was home for Christmas and staying with my sister. She is going through a divorce, after having had breast cancer and gone through chemo/radiation. But she is surviving! We sat together and I comforted her.

I see my sister, sitting next to me on the couch, huddled into herself. She is sobbing...deep wracking sobs. I feel her next to me. She has lost a lot of weight over the past year. I can feel the bones in her back as I rub her shoulders and neck, trying to comfort her and trying to release the tension in her neck. I remember the smell of the candles burning in the room.

[Helen]

I love the idea that every memory is a heartbeat in our stories. I write constantly at the moment trying to process the more painful parts of my own story and looking for the heartbeat of God as I remember. This is a memory of early childhood and seems significant because it sets the tone for the future in so many ways. So often I meet with God and hear his voice in the wonder of the world around me as I look from the window. I think that small girl knew that same sense of wonder even if she was too young to understand it just then. And she was certainly keenly aware of the pain that absent fathers inflict upon our lives.

"In London we had looked out onto the parade ground, and black metal railings of Wellington Barracks, with the ubiquitous London Plane Trees and the ornamental greenery of St James’ Park to soften the view. Scarlet coated Guardsmen or khaki clad soldiers filled our view and the sounds of military bands and the parade ground screams of my father filled our ears. The constant hum of traffic and the sights and sounds associated with it were the background to our everyday lives.
In Lydd we looked out of the bedroom windows onto the sea. Between our house and the shore I seem to recall a wide expanse of salty brush and straggling shrubby plants. We had a front garden with a neat gate and some sort of hedging, grass lawns and a rockery. The air was clear and light and the tang of the sea, the scent of burning and the lilt of the wind filled the air. We had a grassy back garden with the domed mound of an old air raid shelter alongside the fence to the adjoining house; a good vantage point for peering into next doors garden or calling over the fence. Did we call out to the children next door? Who were they? I seem to think Auntie Pip lived next door. If she did then there would have been Uncle Norman and a couple of skinny children as well but they are lost in the mists of time along with the journey to this new home.
But oh how well I recall the sad joy of standing on the dining room table looking at the brilliant blue of the sky and searching for the distant dots on the edge of the sea that might have been the ship carrying my father away from us. Even now I recall the heavy tug at my heart, and the fresh scent and soft swirl of the neatly ironed cotton frock beneath my fingers, as my whole being ached for the day when we would see him again."

'

[Tammy@If Meadows Speak...]

My Sister & I sharing our live as kids:

Sight: A sis who was always mistaken for my twin
Sound: Two little gigglers sharing covers and trying not to wake the house.
Touch: The rough skin of bark on a tree as Sis and I climb our way to the top of our world.
Taste: Sweet, buttery goo of waffles for dinner. Mine and my Sis's favorite (next to biscuits and gravy)
Smell: Of fresh cut grasses carried on a gentle breezes as Sis and I explored the great unkowns of outside play.

[viv]

Am I the only person finding that I seem to remember the bad/sad times above good memories.? I am a true optimist and can so clearly see God's hand in my life and my families lives so why can't I remember more positive things?

[Bonnie]

Snug as a bug in a rug...a strong sense of security.

In my missionary home, my bedroom was in a building on the back part of the yard. The room was shared with my dad's office by a partial room dividing wall. The windows were big and opened horizontally. At night I loved looking out the window, watching the tree just outside sway in the breeze. My walls were covered with youthful paraphanalia, and the whole room designed just to my liking. I would fall asleep night after night to the 'click click' of Dad's typewriter, or melodious classical music on the radio, or the ham radio 'beeps and dings' that he used as background noise. I remember the feel of warm covers over me on cold winter nights when I had to sleep with socks on my feet, and the weight of many blankets for lack of heat. The taste of a sneaked piece of candy would linger on my lips on many nights. The knowledge that I was far from the family (and no one would smell the chocolate) was balanced with the nearness of my father's noises that gave me a sure sense of security.

How did it affect me? To this day I don't mind sleeping alone, (and my husband died 20 years ago) I love to sneak chocolate and eat it alone... (to my demise!!) I dearly love classical music, (especially to lull me to sleep), and I love sleeping near a window with a great view. These things clearly influenced who I am today. I have a strong sense of security about me, and that is thanks to both my Dad and my Father.

[Tamsen]

I often think of summers with my grandmother who had a home business where she made beautiful wooden dolls and kits.
Sight: Sitting on the floor of her work shed playing with fabric, the slant of afternoon sum shining in through the small windows.

Sound - the whirr of the sewing machine.

Touch - the smooth wooden doll parts

Taste - none that I can recall!

Smell - the beautiful aroma of wood shavings mixed with an outdoorsy scent of pine needles in the hot sun - omg, my favorite -I could use that right now!

Although I had no interest in sewing back then, I would pretend to be a teacher and the dolls were my students. This is so important to my story because this is where I decided to become a teacher. Then, somehow I lost my courage over the years, lots of family issues, etc and I am now trying to find my way back to connect with that "knowing" that I had back then. I do believe though, that I have gone through some tough situations for a reason and that when I do finally make the career change, all will unfold as it should.

Thank you so much for doing this. BTW, I am crying right now and they are tears of joy. LOL!!!!

[Donna]

When you were born and have lived in a world that was nothing but pain, manipulation and abusive, those memories are so excessively vivid that it is (almost)impossible to force them to the side and find something good to remember. Those horrific memories made me what I am - I am a survivor, a discerner, a listener, a sometimes counsellor, and someone who can intervene..It is a story that God has impressed strongly upon me that to write parts of it would help others and bring Him glory; how He delivers.

However, there are some good memories, all the more special because they are few. My great-grandmother. She loved everyone regardless, the overwhelming sense of family as everyone would gather there for holidays; joy and happiness mixed; the smells of the most luscious food; the stories of how my ancestors made do, created, and built; fresh honey straight from a bee hive (with bees still on it), and chewing the comb like gum; her soft hands caressing my cheeks or hair; the intoxicating smells of soft lavender and wysteria, and also the strong smells of moth balls when some special garment had been brought out of winter storage. Yes - those times wth her were so very special.

[Tracy]

At my ladies Bible study at church we are going though The Battlefield of the Mind by Joyce Meyers. At the end when you wrote of the Proverb, "As a (wo)man thinks in her heart, so is she," this brought me back to our lesson this week. It is very important to think about what you are thinking about. I am still thinking of my memory, one that has made me into the person I am today. Thanks for getting me to thinking..

[Beverly Estes]

You said emotions, and something else. Does 'will' enter into this? I can remember setting my will not to cry. Setting my will that no one would take the Lord from me or keep me from Him when I was 5.
Just thinking out loud.
Beverly

[Karen]

Growing up with unsaved parents was not a great world to live in. You ask God why a lot. But, He always gave me a bright and wonderful person that push me to love Jesus. One of them was my Mamaw Farley. I can still remember she would be in the room with the piano and I would be in another room. I would rock and sing as she played hymns on the piano. We lived next door to her, every morning I would go over to get a biscuit. Why I did it on Sunday I still don't know. But, at the same time you could not pass up her warm biscuits for anything. She would always ask are you going to church today. If I did not want to go I would say no. She would say now you know the Morrison"s will be disappointed. They were neighbors who took me to church from the age of three. I did not go to the same church as my mamaw. I would say well I do not have panty hose to wear, wrong thing to say. She buy extra and had you a package just your size. Then she would say do you have tithe money. I would say no, she would hand me a quarter. Then she would say don't keep it put it in the plate and then add Jesus is watching and it is His quarter not yours. I learned to love church and to tithe just by those things. Even though I have never set in church with my parents. God gave me spiritual parents to love me and nudge me on. My mamaw is with her Lord and Savior today. But, when I don't want to get up and go to church I still hear her voice saying God is expecting you today make sure you go see Him and put His money in the plate. That is just one meaningful memory in my life with my Lord and Savior.

[Leonore]

I am having issues with same things that Donna alluded to. I shall try to find some happy memories, and post then.
Thank you.

[QC]

I had the same feeling/thought that "viv" had. But I still wanted to find any memory that I could write few words about. Sunny Sunday mornings when I could go to the church walking, feeling that nice fresh wind blowing. Not too many people on the streets. All the stores closed. Some smell of coffee in the air. The joy of meeting friends at church. And the great pleasure in worshiping Jesus Christ.

[Hannah Braboy]

A meaningful memory in my story would have to be going into the Public School system after being homeschooled. Now, you might have to know who I am as a person to understand this.

I remember walking into that tiny little classroom full of noisy 1st graders. The teacher's perfume wafted through the air as I found my place at the smooth desks. Tears stung my face. It was not what I expected it to be. I felt insecure about myself. I played hooky just to see my Mama. For those 2 years, the school nurse probably thought I had a permanent upset stomach.

[LindaC]

Ok, this is where is gets hard. So many memories, but how to neatly write them and then find a meaning for my life from them? I'd like to think they are all meaningful, but I don't know how. I know they are a part of who I am today. I am God's tapestry and I'm not sure of why he picked the pattern or the colors all the time!

[Dee]

Sight – My tiny hand in my Dad’s very large one. We walk through iron gates and continue along the gravel pathway beside the old stone barns. My eyes pan over rolling hills with huge trees spreading long, leafy boughs upward to a blue, blue Virginia sky.
Sound – Birds chirping—the crunch of our shoes on the path—the wind moving softly past my ears, tousling my hair—my Dad growling like a bear in a thicket of bamboo—my shrieks of delight as I dive into our game—the sound of water as it flowed from a stone lion’s mouth cascading down tiered, granite pools in the Italian Gardens—echoes in ‘the dome’ in a columned structure above the lion’s waterfall.
Taste – The salty taste on my fingers from the peanuts we’ve brought for the squirrels.
Smell – Old spice in my nose as I ride my Dad’s shoulders too tired to walk anymore—he carries me home.

Just about every Saturday morning my Dad would take me and sometimes some neighbor children to Maymont Park to go ‘roughy-toughing.’ Maymont was actually an old estate donated to our city by Major and Mrs. Dooley when they died. They were a childless couple and loved Richmond and gave this estate to the city to be made into a park for its citizens. We’d ramble over the whole park up hills and down, past the old Mansion, past the old quarry with its still water growing algae, scramble over a rocky path that was hidden in the Oriental Gardens, and Dad would pretend to be a bear sometimes growling in the thicket of Rhododendron or bamboo ‘scaring’ us girls as we walked along. Not noticing his disappearance from the path, we’d laugh and shriek and run away loving this game every time. We’d always visit the Italian Gardens to see the lion waterfall and stomp and shout in ‘the dome’ at the end of a columned structure above the lion. As we trudged back home, often the two little girls would ride atop my Dad’s huge shoulders too tired to walk anymore. Ginna Lee, the oldest of the group, would have to make it on her own. I love this park to this very day. It is probably the most precious part of the city to me. They’ve added wildlife exhibits, a tram and many activities for the city’s children and adults to enjoy; but when I was a child, it was only a quiet escape that my Dad and I shared with nothing but its natural beauty to offer us. I have returned many times both alone and with boyfriends, my tiny cousins, my husband, and my children. It’s there that sweet memories always meet me and I feel I am home.

[Mary]

I am still trying to figure out how to write this memory. Its the only happy one I can remember. Its the most significant one I can remember.
It was when I was 9 and attending Vacation Bible School at the local church.
sight: children sitting on the grass under the large maple shade tree, the teacher, a young man, was flipping large pictures of the bible story as he told us about Jesus. I saw the pictures of Jesus and heard about His miracles, His love for me, His death on the cross, and His resurrection.
sounds: only the teachers voice telling me of One who loved me so much He would go to the cross for me.
I cant remember smells or touch, only the absolute joy in hearing that this Jesus, the One who did miracles, the One who died on the cross and rose again alive, loves me, little insignificant me. that day I chose to believe in Him.
oh man I am not a writer...lol

[Mona]

I remember how happy my grandfather was when I would pick him and my grandmother up for church. He was very proud me because I was working had had just purchased a brand new car. My grandfather never went to visit anyone are there homes, but one day he asked me to take him to see my sister and her husband. It was the best day ever beccause you see my grandfather had really found Jesus and was a changed man. Even though he's in heaven I will always remember how he was so proud of me and that made me so happy.

[Treava]

Sight - 100 empty, green and white striped yards ahead of me. Bleachers and sidelines packed with people wearing coats or wrapped in blankets. Steaming cups of hot chocolate. Some faces showing prideful smiles. Others with lofty, expectant smirks.

Sound - The booming voice of the announcer over a loud speaker, introducing the girl who was leading the band ... without an instructor!

Touch - A tall baton held high in the air. God's hand, gentle, but firm on my shoulder.

Taste - A whistle, cold and metallic, gripped tightly between my chattering teeth and trembling lips.

Smell - Hotdogs, hamburgers, french fries, nachos, candy, and teenage-boy-sweat.

Sound - One long, steady blow of my whistle. Many instruments lifted in perfect unison. Four short, sharp blows of my whistle. The blessed, perfected music of my friends.